


A Ladle and some Stew

by Thorinsmut



Series: A Ladle and some Stew [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bombur is adorkably shy, Canon Compliant, F/M, Food Porn, I just want Bombur to be loved, Mirra is sweet, Nonbinary Dwarves, differently abled Dwarves living full and happy lives, dwarves are chill about gender options, everybody loves Baby Dwarves, gratuitous fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 39,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One look, and he just <i>knew</i>. </p><p>the cast has mentioned that Bombur has a large family.<br/>I decided to do a series of adorable shy Bombur and his lovely lady.<br/>Contains lots of fluff, family feels, and food porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First sight

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bofur wants the D](https://archiveofourown.org/works/661653) by [Thorinsmut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut). 



 

One look, and he just _knew_. 

A toymaker makes the most money traveling from town to town. 

A skilled miner can work in any Dwarf settlement. 

A good cook can find work _anywhere_. 

Bombur had found work in what was basically a cafeteria attached to a large forge deep under the Blue Mountains. The smiths would come in in shifts. Bombur and the other cooks would feed them up and get back to cooking for the next shift. 

The first time he caught sight of her, he forgot how to breathe. 

One look, and he just _knew_. 

There would never be another Dwarf for him, not as long as he lived. 

Her red-gold hair and beard were braided back tight to keep them out of the way. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, baring her brawny forearms that bore the little shiny scars smiths picked up in the forge. She was broad-shouldered and generously curvy, and she had her head thrown back in a full-bodied laugh that pealed through the room like a bell. 

The echo of that laugh trembled through him all the way down to his boots, freezing him in place until one of the other cooks smacked him in the shoulder to snap him out of it. He turned away quickly, trying to remember how breathing worked while his hands set to work automatically chopping what was before him. 

He could _hear_ her move through the line, joking with her friends and laughing, talking about the forging she was doing, moving away to a table to sit and eat. 

One look, and he just _knew_... but what were the chances that a nobody-cook like him could attract a Darrowdam like _her_? Dwarrowdams were rare enough in the best of times that one as beautiful as her could pick and choose from Nobles if she wanted. What could Bombur offer her? And she was a career smith, too. She might be one who preferred to immerse herself in her craft rather than pursue a relationship or family. 

It was absolutely doomed. 

He had to _try_. 

Bombur was not a terribly _brave_ Dwarf, but there were some things _worth_ trying for even if it was just to fail. 

One look, and he just knew that she was one of them.


	2. perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short chapter in which Bombur's powers of seduction are based upon my own. 
> 
> probably another chapter later.

 

Everything had to be perfect. 

Bombur wasn't _like_ Bofur, who could charm anyone he liked with a happy tune and a few jokes. There was only one thing Bombur was good at, and that was food. Everything had to be perfect. 

_She_ ate in the third of the four shifts Bombur helped feed, so he had two shifts to practice before she came in. 

There were only about half a dozen meals they served over and over again. Bombur did what he could, making sure things were at least a little different each time, making sure everything was always at it's peak when it was served. There was more room for variation in the desserts, so he threw himself into those – working to make them perfect. 

It had to be perfect for _her_. 

He found himself giving instructions to some of the other cooks, even though he was only just barely over a hundred and one of the newest employees. To his surprise, they listened to him whenever he got up the courage to make a quiet suggestion. 

Bombur was astonished when some of the other cooks started _asking_ him his opinion on things. 

He was even more astonished when the owner, Jarn, a plump little Dwarf with steel-gray hair and smiling eyes, pulled him aside and gave him a raise one evening after work, along with more responsibility and freedom in the baking department. 

He was so caught off guard he almost didn't thank hir. Jarn just laughed when Bombur stumbled over himself accepting the job and thanking hir. 

“I know you'll do a good job.” ze said, smiling and slapping Bombur on the back, “you make the smiths happy.” 

Bombur was practically floating when he walked home. 

If Jarn had noticed, maybe _she_ had noticed. Maybe _she_ was one of the smiths he made happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frabbity and I were chatting it up the other day discussing Dwarven gender. I my headcanon is that there are 5 main options for Dwarven gender. Male, Female, Both, Neither, and Undecided. Male gets he, Female gets she, Both I have finally decided gets ze/hir, Neither gets they, and Undecided don't use pronouns, thanks.   
> Undecided also comes in various flavors like 'undecided trying on 'he' for size', and 'undecided going to be undecided forever, thanks'. Both probably also has variations like 'Both feeling like 'she' today'.   
> The ways in which gender are advertised are far too subtle for us Humans to pick up.   
> There are, of course, Dwarves who throw mixed signals. There are probably very polite and casual ways of asking someone what their pronouns are. 
> 
> Anyway, sometimes I get to thinking about Dwarves being awesome about gender and then forget about it until I'm writing along and the throwaway boss character gets sassy, refuses to be an unnamed throwaway, and furthermore identifies as Both.   
> I'm just going with it.


	3. Apple Turnover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get introduced!

“...taking a break.” Bombur said, hanging up his apron and making sure his beard loop was in order before loading a big plate up with crusty dark bread and beans and roasted root vegetables who's edges had crisped and caramelized in the oven. He also took one of his apple turnovers, the one that split in the oven and stuck to the pan and wasn't very pretty.

He ignored the surprised looks of the other cooks when he went out and sat at the same table as _her_ instead of hiding in the back with his food the way he usually did. Lots of the other cooks sat out in the front with the smiths when they ate. There was no reason why he shouldn't.

Bombur ate his food and tried to think of a way to introduce himself to _her_ , but she was talking with her friends, her bright laughter floating through the air, and he didn't want to be rude and interrupt. _That_ wouldn't make a good first impression.

He was nearly done with his food and he _still_ didn't know how to say hello to her. Bofur would probably have told a joke, and everyone would laugh, and then they would be best friends instantly, but Bombur wasn't _like_ Bofur. He couldn't just _do_ that.

 _She_ stood up with her plate and his heart fell. He'd missed his chance... he brightened when he realized she'd just returned to the line for seconds.

She came back, sitting beside her friends with a huff. “I wanted another turnover but they're all gone! They were _so good_...”

Bombur looked at the little plate that was beside his nearly-empty plate of food.

It wasn't a pretty turnover, on that little plate.

It was better than _no_ turnover, though.

“Here.” he said, pushing the plate toward her.

Her eyes were bright green flecked with blue purer than the finest sapphires as she looked at him with surprise.

“Oh I couldn't...” she said, eying the turnover hungrily, “ _you_ should get to enjoy one too!”

“I had one when I was making them.” he explained.

“ _You're_ the one who makes the desserts?” she exclaimed, smiling right at him as she accepted the turnover. There was a little gap between her front teeth, and her eyes had crinkled up, squeezed almost shut above her rosy round cheeks.

She was probably the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

“I'm Mirra!” she said brightly, picking up the turnover and taking a bite out of it.

Mirra.

It was probably the most beautiful name he'd ever heard.

She made a happy humming sound as she chewed, wiggling in a little 'this tastes good' dance that was probably the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.

Mirra was looking at him expectantly now.

Oh! He hadn't told her his name!

“B-Bombur.” he managed to introduce himself. “...at your service.”

“Thank you Bombur.” She smiled, turning back to her friends.

He floated through the rest of the day.

He had _spoken_ to her, to Mirra.

And it had gone _well._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with art!  
> http://mia-newarcher.tumblr.com/post/50601488743/small-images-for-thorinsmut-a-ladle-and-some


	4. lemon squares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirra's viewpoint

 

“Bombur!” Mirra called, and the shy cook turned and grinned at her, blushing. 

He was so _cute_ , soft and cuddly-looking and always blushing when she talked to him... and all that red hair of his was very handsome. She was particularly intrigued by his beard loop. Her fingers _itched_ to tease it apart and learn its secrets... but that would be inappropriate. 

You don't just go around touching another Dwarf's beard. 

“What have you got for me today?” She asked, serving herself her dinner. 

“Just... lemon squares.” He said. 

“You know I love those!” She grinned, “Save me one?” 

He nodded and she took her food to a table with a few of her friends, who elbowed her with slightly raised eyebrows. 

She laughed and ignored them. 

Bombur was so sweet. The first time she'd called out to him across the counter, the day after they met when he shared his dessert, he'd been so surprised he'd dropped his ladle. She really didn't need to remind him to bring her an extra serving of dessert, but she did it anyway. 

He was _such_ a good cook, too. 

Handsome, thoughtful, polite, a good cook... he was definitely what her mother would have called 'marriage material'. She would have loved him. 

Her brothers wouldn't, Mirra knew, but then her brothers were blockheads who thought that people who didn't want to spend all their days hunting Orcs were weak. Mirra had sworn she would drop an anvil on their heads the next time they tried to set her up with some meat-brained oaf who's only thoughts were for violence and their own glory. 

No, Mirra much preferred someone gentle, someone who didn't think she would make nothing better than an arm adornment. Someone who... 

Bombur sat down across the table from her, blushing as he pushed a small plate with a lemon square on it to her. 

It was probably the prettiest lemon square she'd ever seen. He had even garnished it with a little curl of lemon peel and two fresh blueberries. 

“Thank you Bombur.” She said, catching his soft, warm hand to squeeze it lightly before she took the plate. He turned dark red and looked down at his plate of food. 

Mirra's friends were smirking and giving her raised eyebrows again. A little quick iglishmek detailing what she might do to them with her hammers if they said _anything_ quelled that quickly. 

Bombur was shy enough already. She didn't need him getting teased, too.

“How... was work?” he asked quietly, when there was a lull in conversation. 

“Ugh...” Mirra rolled her eyes, “We're still working on that huge nail order. It's so boring. I'll be glad when we're done with it. I swear I could make nails in my sleep after this...” she mimed the few quick motions it took to make a nail, so mindless and repetitive.

Bombur nodded sympathetically, “like rolls sometimes...” he said, miming a rolling motion in his hands. 

“At least you get rolls afterward!” Mirra picked up her roll, admiring it. It was plump and crusty, a rich wheaty smell wafting out of its warm depths as she tore it in half to spread butter on it, “This is a work of _art_ , and it's _delicious_. You can't eat nails, and when's the last time you saw someone admire the craftsmanship of a nail?” 

Bombur blushed again. 

He had to leave again soon, go back to cooking, but they did share one last small smile before he left. 

Ah, sweet Bombur. 

She would draw him out of his shell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgot to mention earlier that I stole Mirra's name from charliechick117, who no longer has internet access for me to ask permission. I don't think she would mind though.


	5. jelly-thumbprint cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It _should_ be simple.

It should be simple, but it wasn't.

It would only take a few words, to invite Mirra to spend time with him when he was done with work. They could get to know one another a little better, just the two of them.

She _seemed_ to like him. She talked to him every day, and she always smiled at him and sometimes she reached over and squeezed his hand, so she would probably say yes.

It would only take a few words...

but then where would he take her? There wasn't _so_ much to do under the mountain, especially if you were trying to be frugal and he and Bifur and Bofur were _always_ trying to be frugal... so there really wasn't anyplace he could take her, and it was _far_ too early to invite her home to meet his family, and Bifur and Bofur would probably tease her unmercifully and _what if she liked Bofur better_? Bofur never had a problem charming anyone he wanted to, and why wouldn't he want to charm Mirra? Mirra was the very best Darrowdam in the whole world.

No. No it _could_ be simple.

He could just ask her if she wanted to spend time together after work... and then let her choose how. Talking with her was easier than talking with most people.

Bombur sat down and pushed the plate of jelly-thumbprint cookies to her.

She smiled at him.

He ate his food and tried to think of how to ask her if she would like to spend time with him. It would only take a few words, and he'd planned them out even, but now they just seemed awkward and wrong and he couldn't bring himself to say them.

She told him about her day, talking about the orders she was filling.

And then he could _see_ that he was needed back on the other side of the counter to cook and he hadn't figured out how to just _ask_ her.

How did other people do it?

He put his apron back on and went to work, once again having failed to say the words.

It _should_ be simple to ask someone out to spend time together.

It wasn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently this is to be a fic with extremely short chapters.  
> *shrug*


	6. Treacle Tart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food porn and feels.  
> They go together surprisingly well.

A toymaker makes the most money traveling from town to town.

A skilled miner can work in any Dwarf settlement.

A good cook can find work _anywhere_.

“...maybe I'll stay here...” Bombur ventured. Bifur and Bofur stopped their casual argument about which routes they should take and stared at him over the small table of the dingy little house they were renting. Bombur looked down at his hands.

Bombur hadn't told them about Mirra, because there really wasn't much to say, was there? He hadn't quite managed to ask her out yet and...

“Aw... Bombur!” Bofur put his arm around his younger brother's shoulders to give an affectionate squeeze. “You know we need you!”

“He's right!” Bifur agreed, “Who'd feed us on the road if we didn't have you? We'd starve to death.”

“You always find work fast, even in human towns.” Bofur added, smiling at Bombur. “Without you we'd be out in the cold, more often than not!”

“We have to stick together.” Bifur ended, “And I know Lari and the little one miss you...” Bifur's eyes softened as he thought of his wife and child.

With that, his cousin and brother seemed to have decided that Bombur was coming with them and continued their discussion of which routes to take. Bifur worked on placing the tiny cogs that would let one of his beautiful toys move and argued taking a more direct route. Bofur had his boots up on the table and was enjoying a smoke while arguing a more scenic route – he always had been more fond of the surface than most Dwarves, for all he was a miner and loved the rock.

...they _did_ need him. He couldn't just abandon them. They were _family_.

“I'll give notice at work.” Bombur sighed.

 

Jarn offered him a raise to try and keep him, but Bombur just shook his head mournfully.

“My family needs me.” he explained, and the steel-haired Dwarf nodded in understanding.

“You've got a job here, if you make your way back.” ze offered.

“Thank you.” Bombur said.

 

Everything had to be perfect.

It was Bombur's last day. Everything at home was all packed up and ready to go.

This was the last meal he would be sharing with Mirra.

Treacle tarts were one of her very favorites. They would be prefect, as perfect as he could possibly make them.

He cut the butter into the flour, working it to an even breadcrumb consistency between his fingers.

He hadn't managed to tell Mirra he was leaving. It just seemed so _selfish_ to disrupt all conversation and make himself the center of attention like that.

He mixed cold water into the flour and butter, mixing it as little as possible just so it was all dampened, then wrapped the pastry dough tightly and carried it into the back of the stone pantry where it would stay cold with the mountain's chill.

He knew he had to say goodbye to her, before he left, as horribly awkward as it would be, when most people at the table wouldn't even _care_ that he was going to be gone and would feel like they had to say they did regardless.

He set a pot of treacle syrup on the back of the stove to slowly heat to a near-boil and took out the day-old bread he'd set aside to grow stale, pounding it into breadcrumbs.

He got the pastry dough back out, rolling out thin and patting it into the tart pans, pricking it with a fork to prevent it from bubbling up when it was baked.

It had to be perfect.

It had to say everything Bombur _couldn't_.

He mixed the heated treacle with the breadcrumbs and some lemon, tasting it and adjusting the flavors to be _just right_ , achingly sweet and just a little tart. He filled the tarts and wove the latticework of pastry crust over the top.

It had to say that he would miss her, and think about her every day. It had to say that he would do what he could to convince Bifur and Bofur to come back here as soon as possible.

He brushed the tarts with an egg wash to make the crust pretty, and gently placed them in the oven.

It had to say that he hoped she kept doing well with her work... that her maker's mark became known and she started getting commissions for her work specifically.

When the smells told him the tarts were baked through he brought them out to cool slightly before they were served. He set the prettiest one aside, cutting the others and setting them on the counter for the smiths to serve themselves as they came through.

It had to say that he wished he had been able to know her better.

Mirra crowed happily when he told her it was treacle tarts today, her eyes shining brighter than sapphires, her red-gold braids more beautiful than a river of gold, her smile more valuable than a vein of mythril.

He chose the prettiest slice from the prettiest tart and set it on a plate. He garnished it with a healthy dollop of thick cream.

It had to say that he was sorry he was leaving, that he was sorry he couldn't _say_ what he wished he could say.

It had to say that he would miss her laugh and the touch of her hand, that he would miss her smile, that he would miss hearing about the workings of the forge and her hopes for the future.

He sat down and pushed the tart to her, blushing at her smile and the strong squeeze of her tough scarred hand on his.

It was a beautiful little plate of dessert, but in the end it was just a piece of treacle tart and it couldn't say _any_ of those things.

Bombur ate his food and tried to say the things the treacle tart couldn't say for him, but she was deep in a spirited discussion about the merits of various tempering techniques and he didn't want to interrupt.

He waited longer than he _should_ , since he could see that he was needed back on the other side of the counter, but she was very passionately defending her preferred tempering method and he didn't want to interrupt.

“...goodbye...” he said quietly as he stood, and she glanced toward him with a small distracted smile and a little wave as he left, not pausing in her argument.

He went back behind the counter and set to work helping where he was needed, focusing hard on the task at hand to keep himself from crying.

He would miss everything about her, just... _everything_. 

At least he'd gotten to say goodbye, even if he _couldn't_ say everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious about the treacle tart, this is the recipe I was basing my description on.   
> http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/mary_berrys_treacle_tart_28524
> 
> You can blame my mother for this. She requested more food porn.


	7. blackberries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> being apart is _sad_.

 

The second day in a row that Bombur was inexplicably missing Mirra caught the attention of one of the other cooks. 

“Where's Bombur?” she asked, worried for him. If he'd gotten hurt somehow... 

The look the cook gave her was pitying. 

“Bombur's gone.” He said, dismissively, “Wanderers, his whole family, not from around here. They were never going to stay long.” 

“Oh...” Mirra said, and then realized she was holding up the line and quickly served herself and sat herself down. 

She'd thought they were, if nothing else yet, at least _friends,_ but he hadn't even said _goodbye_...

She stilled, pausing in her eating as she remembered that last meal they'd had together. He'd made her favorite dessert and she'd... she'd been arguing with someone and she couldn't even remember who or about what it was so unimportant. She had barely even acknowledged him. 

He _had_ said goodbye, but she'd thought he'd meant just for the meal. 

She should have _realized_ that Bombur would never interrupt someone else talking unless the thing he had to say mattered. 

And now he was gone and she hadn't even said goodbye! 

Mirra stabbed angrily at her food. She'd thought she had _time_ , time to get him more comfortable around her so he wouldn't be frightened off when she asked him out. She hadn't known she had such a short time, and it was _unfair_ that he hadn't told her! 

...and she didn't even know if he was coming _back_. 

 

“Bombur, catch!” Bofur called, tossing a blackberry across the fire, and Bombur obediently snapped it out of the air. It was a good berry, but the old game didn't cheer him the way it usually did. He tasted the sweet tart juice of the berry and thought about how much Mirra would love it. His famous Campfire Cobbler would suit her tastes perfectly, and they could sit side by side eating it and laughing when they burned their mouths with impatience... 

“I love mining.” Bofur said, laying back on the ground with a bowl of fresh-picked blackberries balanced on his belly. “I love the rock, I do... but I love the sun and the wind and campfires and blackberries, too.” 

He tossed another berry to Bombur, who caught it neatly. His heart might be breaking, but it _had_ been a long time since he'd had fresh blackberries. 

“This is the _life_ ,” Bofur said, contentedly, grinning at Bombur and Bifur, “Best of both worlds, wandering around, making new friends wherever we go, getting to know the stone of new mountains, getting to lay under the stars and eat blackberries with my family.” He sighed contentedly. 

“...skipping town before your lovers find out about each other...” Bifur added quietly, raising an eyebrow at his cousin, and Bofur laughed unashamedly. 

“If _only_ I had to worry about such a problem...” He sighed. 

Bombur stirred the stew and tasted it, nodding to himself. It was a very decent stew – nothing to compare to what he could make in a real kitchen with real supplies to draw on instead of their lean travel packs, but Bombur was proud of the fact that he could whip up a good meal from absolutely anything, anytime, anywhere, in any kitchen. 

Even if the only kitchen he wanted to cook in was _any_ kitchen he could serve Mirra from afterward. 

“Dinner.” he said, scooping up bowlfuls of stew and passing them to Bifur and Bofur before serving himself. He looked wistfully back south, the way they'd come, as he ate. 

He _would_ be back. He would. 

He could only hope that he could take back up where he left off with the finest Darrowdam in the whole world. 


	8. sledgehammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today we get to meet Mirra's brothers!

 

Every Dwarf knows that the way to deal with heartbreak is to immerse yourself in your craft. Some of the very finest and most famous masterworks were the result of lost love. 

Mirra threw herself into her blacksmith work, taking more hours at the forge and taking on more commissions. There was a great deal of comfort and satisfaction in crafting beautiful, functional objects and placing her mark on them so that all could know where they were from. 

Mirra didn't drop and anvil on her brothers the way she'd threatened to, but she did throw a sledgehammer at them. Sidgra and Vegdra came by the forge with some preening muscle-headed friend, trying to set her up _yet again_ , and she grabbed the closest large object and threw it at them. 

They dodged easily, of course. They were fine warriors, both of them. The massive sledgehammer hit the wall with a resounding boom, and her blond-haired brothers stared at her with wide eyes. She picked up another hammer, watching as their friend decided it was a good time to sneak away. 

“There will be _no more_ setting me up. _Ever_.” She stated, pointing at the door with the sledgehammer, “ _Leave._ ” 

Her brothers swallowed hard and obeyed. 

There were a few whistles and cheers, but most of the blacksmiths were too engrossed in their own work to care too much about her family drama. 

Mirra looked at the delicate work she'd been crafting and shook her head. She set it aside for the moment and switched it for something that could stand up to more aggressive hammer work. 

Her brothers were not home when she was done with work, but she did notice that Vegdra had, for maybe the first time ever, remembered that it was his turn to do dishes, and it even looked like Sidgra had swept. 

She was working at the kitchen table, drawing up plans for a piece she was hoping to make, when her brothers came home. 

Always together, the two of them, they might as well be twins. Too bad they didn't have a whole brain between them. 

She ignored them. 

Sidgra wrapped his arms around her from the left, and Vegdra from the right, resting their foreheads against the sides of her head. 

It... it actually felt very comforting. Mirra closed her eyes and wrapped an arm around each of her brothers. Muscle-headed oafs they might be, but they were her family and she loved them. 

“Sorry Mirmir.” Sidgra said, quietly. 

“We just wanted you to be happy, we didn't know. It won't happen again.” Vegdra promised. 

“Thank you.” she said, and her brothers bumped their foreheads against hers before letting her go again. 

Sidgra started rummaging through the cabinets, looking for a snack. 

“If you tell us who it was.” He said, cheerfully, “We'd be _more_ than happy to beat them up for breaking your heart!” Vegdra nodded enthusiastic agreement. 

...and then they had to ruin the moment, of course. They wouldn't be her brothers if the didn't.

“No.” Mirra sighed, going back to her work. “There was never anything _said_ between us.”

It was very true. Very very true. 

And it stung. 

 

Lari and little Lifur were happy to have Bifur home, of course, disappearing into their toymaking workshop for hours at a time, never as happy as they were working on new toy designs together. 

Bofur got himself back into the mines as soon as he could, and Bombur of course never had a problem finding work. 

He liked work, he loved cooking, but he hated having to find it. There was _nothing_ more awkward than going up to people and asking if they were looking to hire a cook. 

Bombur got work in a decent kitchen attached to a small tavern. Nothing fancy, just helping support the family while Bifur and Lari made a wagonload of new toys... and then they took that wagonload of toys and made their way back south along the line of the Blue Mountains, selling them as they went, and Bombur always hated it because he had to ask _so many_ different people for work, and he loved it because he was going back toward Mirra. 

He had made sure they were going back to the town she lived in. Bifur and Bofur had been arguing the route they wanted to take once they were south of Ered Luin, and neither of them had thought it was a good idea to go back to that town so soon when Bombur suggested it, not when it was too small to have a proper name and not when they had just spent so much time there over the winter.

“...you don't have to,” Bombur said, “but _I'm_ going.” He looked down at his hands, fidgeting in their fingerless gloves, unable to meet their questioning eyes. 

They agreed to a short stay, and that would be ok. If Mirra didn't want anything to do with him anymore he could go, and if she _did_ he could try to convince Bifur and Bofur to stay longer, or leave him behind while they visited nearby settlements and towns to sell the toys. 

The first thing he did when he got back into the little town was to search Jarn out, the steel-haired little Dwarf clapping him on the shoulder in greeting and asking him how soon he could start before he even had to ask for a job. 

“You will not believe how many complaints I've gotten about the desserts since you left!” Jarn smiled, and Bombur agreed to start the next day. 

It was nice to have his work appreciated. 

He found Bifur and Bofur at the little house they'd rented, and helped get their sparse things settled. 

He could hardly sleep that night from worry. 

What if Mirra didn't want anything to do with him anymore? 


	9. Apricot Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet again!

The Dwarf who'd been making the desserts seemed relieved that Bombur would be taking it over, even if just for a short while. After a quick inspection of the pantry revealed a small barrel of apricot preserves and a fresh shipment of eggs he knew what he would be making.

He'd never made a jelly roll for Mirra before, but from what he knew of her tastes he was almost _completely_ sure she would like it.

Whether or not she would still like _him_ was the real question.

In between helping shape the dinner rolls and chopping vegetables and all the little things that needed to happen before a herd of hungry smiths could be fed a satisfactory meal – punctuated by a few of the other cooks asking him his opinion on seasonings and doneness – Bombur made the jelly rolls.

He carefully separated the eggs, setting the yolks aside while he whisked the whites with just a touch of sugar and a little bitter almond extract.

Dangerous stuff, almond extract, but it always seemed to set apricot off to perfection – just that fragrant touch to counter the sweetness of the apricot preserves.

It would be ok if Mirra didn't want anything to do with him.

He could just leave with Bifur and Bofur and never come back here again and leave her in peace. It would be ok. He would just keep cooking and traveling all alone with his brother and cousin forever.

He beat the egg yolks and carefully put the beaten egg whites on top, carefully sifting the flour on top and folding it all together as gently as possible to not deflate it.

He had to get it just right.

A perfect dessert wouldn't be _nearly_ enough to apologize for leaving without telling her, but it was a start. A perfect dessert wouldn't make Mirra not-angry if she _was_ angry (if she even thought about him enough to _be_ angry) but it wouldn't _hurt_.

He carefully smoothed the light batter into the flat pans and put them in the ovens while he lay out clean cloths and dusted them carefully with a little sugar so the cakes wouldn't stick. The sponge cakes were thin enough that by the time he had the cloths ready, the cakes were emitting their light almond fragrance to let him know they were done.

He turned them out onto the cloths and rolled them up to cool.

Even if Mirra didn't want anything to do with him anymore, it would be good to see her enjoy something he'd cooked. He smiled as he thought of the way she smiled when she tasted something _particularly_ good. If he could inspire that smile, he would be happy.

Bombur unrolled the sponge cakes and spread the apricot preserves on them, rolling them back up carefully and cutting them into thick rounds and arranging them attractively out on the counter– setting the best one aside of course.

With the bread and dessert made, he helped where he could – trying to make sure everything was as good as it could be.

He saw Mirra the moment she came in, of course. Her beautiful red-gold hair was more beautiful than ever in its snug braids. She was surrounded by her friends and talking, but she didn't seem to be laughing as much as normal.

She served herself and sat down without ever once lifting her eyes past the counter. She didn't see him.

Bombur's stomach twisted.

This was it.

He fiddled with his beard loop, making sure it was neat and in order, then realized he still had his apron on, and hung it up, then made sure his beard was still ok... and then before he could talk himself out of it he announced he was taking a break and took a plate of food and the best piece of jelly roll out to Mirra's table.

She didn't notice as he sat down, but several of her friends did and he was glared at fiercely.

Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

“...Mirra...” He finally managed to make his voice work, sliding the little plate of dessert toward her.

She looked up, her green/blue eyes widening with surprise.

“Bombur!” Her face opened in the best smile he'd seen in his whole life, and his heart forgot how beating was supposed to work.

The smile didn't last long, Mirra drew back quickly, eyes narrowing as she frowned at him.

“I'm angry with you.” she said.

After that brief flash of hope...

Bombur looked down at his plate, nodding.

It would be ok.

Somehow.

 

Mirra closed her eyes as she reached the dining hall, hit very suddenly with a thought of Bombur – something in the smells reminding her sharply of the sweet shy Dwarf she'd missed.

She didn't look up as she served herself, fighting her instinct to search the kitchen for Bombur.

He wouldn't be there, and she _hated_ the knowing smirk of some of the other cooks when they caught her at it. At least the dessert was something new and not just a pale imitation of Bombur's cooking. No one could make his specialties quite the way he did.

She noticed the table go quiet around her and was just about to ask what the problem was when Bombur said her name.

He was _back_.

It was probably a good thing she was sitting and there was a table between them or she might have tackled him in a hug and that probably would have scared him right off.

She was just so _happy_ to see him, she forgot for a moment that she was a little upset at him for leaving without explaining.

Mirra had not expected how devastated he looked when she said she was angry. He shrunk in on himself, shoulders slumping as he looked down and nodded.

He picked up his fork and started eating as though he were going to be executed at the end of the meal and might as well get it over with.

She hadn't meant to crush him, and after he'd brought her such a beautiful piece of dessert, too...

“Hey, Bombur...” she said, stretching under the table to gently kick at his boot, she reached across the table toward him with a small smile when he looked up at her.

He tentatively reached back, and she took his soft warm hand in her own.

“Just don't _disappear_ on me again?” she asked, waiting for him to nod before she continued. “I would like to catch up with you... do you want to meet after work so we can talk?”

She wasn't sure she'd ever seen someone nod so hard in all her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bitter almond extract contains cyanide. Do not anger the cook.


	10. simple stew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirra meets the family.

It took Bombur half a beat to recognize Mirra when he stepped out of work, practically humming with excitement, to meet her.

She looked _different_ without her heavy work clothes, with her hair in simpler braids.

Different, and far too beautiful for words.

He may have stared.

Mirra laughed as she took his hand in hers, tugging him along, and he was happy to follow her. He didn't really care where they walked as long as he got to walk with _her_.

She talked about her work, what she'd been doing while he was gone and any news that was new under the mountain... and then she was asking what he had been doing and he was telling her about Bofur and Bifur and Lari and Lifur, and the toys, and the weather aboveground and the different kitchens he'd worked in and it didn't feel strange to be talking so much because she was _interested_ and asking questions and making jokes.

He remembered after a while that he had to pick up a few things at the market for Bofur and Bifur's dinner, and it didn't seem strange that she walked with him and helped pick stuff out.

It didn't feel strange when she came home with him (wonderful, and maybe like a happy dream he was afraid to wake up from, but not strange) because she was telling him funny stories about her brothers and asking about his family too.

They sat together next to the stove, sharing a few mugs of light ale while Bombur kept an eye on the stew he'd left barely simmering while he was at work, and it didn't seem strange to be lifting the spoon to her lips and offering her a taste, asking her about the flavors even if it _was_ an extremely humble stew of the kind it was _impossible_ to get wrong. It didn't seem strange either to be sitting so very close to her, their boots had somehow gotten tangled together and her solid shoulder was leaning against his own less-brawny one, while he quietly told her about both his parents following King Thror to try to reclaim their homeland of Moria, and how neither brave warrior had come home.

He and Bofur had been deemed too young to go, though they'd begged to come with, and they were lucky – so lucky to have had Bifur to take care of them.

Her family was solid Blue Mountains all the way back. His family had been wanderers for a long time.

It did not seem strange at all to be talking so much. It seemed like the best and most _right_ thing in the world until Bofur came home.

 _Bofur_ clearly thought it was strange. He stared, frozen in the doorway, mouth falling open under his swooping mustache as he made a garbled sound that might have been a question. Bombur could feel his tongue sticking to the top of his mouth and his throat freezing up. What if Mirra liked Bofur better? Everyone liked Bofur.

“Hello!” Mirra greeted him with one of her blindingly sweet smiles, leaning against Bombur a little more firmly, “I'm Mirra, you must be Bofur?”

Bofur recovered himself quickly, never at a loss for words for long, he bowed with a broad smile and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “Bofur, at your service.”

He dumped his mining mattock and other tools by the door and walked over to the stove, serving himself a big bowl of the stew, and just as easy as breathing he was telling a joke and Mirra was laughing and Bofur had a new friend.

Bofur and Mirra were telling each other stories and laughing across the kitchen table when Bifur came home.

Bofur introduced Mirra to Bifur, and soon enough she was talking with him about toymaking and having an in-depth discussion with him about the little metal gears and bits he used in his work.

Eventually Mirra decided it was late and left, wishing them all a good evening but Bombur was sure she'd looked at him more while she said it. Maybe.

“That was fast, even for you.” Bifur observed, eying Bofur, “You don't usually bring them _home_. Is it serious or are you trying to break her heart?”

“Oh, I'd say it's pretty serious.” Bofur grinned, leaning back with his boots on the table and taking a long drag on his pipe. “They were thick as thieves, cuddled up in front of the stove when I came home.”

It took a few beats for Bifur to understand before he turned toward Bombur, astonishment clear on his face. Bofur was laughing, and Bombur just _knew_ that the teasing was never going to end.

“We were... just talking?” he tried.

Their laughter told him his weak protest had done nothing but give them more fuel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being a shy person myself - one thing I value the most in a friend or partner is someone who makes me feel not-shy, those rare people around whom I realize I have been chatting like crazy and it didn't feel weird or awkward at all. 
> 
> Also, it occurred to me while I was writing the chapter that I don't know what gender/s the Ur brothers parents were. All I know is that at least one of them had a womb and chose to bear.  
> It probably won't come up again, so I may never know.


	11. Chicken and Dumplings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Social Anxiety and Fluff and Food.

 

The teasing hadn't been as bad as it could have been. Bifur and Bofur were more surprised and pleased with him than anything else. 

They were happy for him, but that didn't mean they were willing to stay longer than they'd planned, or let Bombur stay behind. 

The more he tried to explain how he _needed_ to stay, to be here, to be with _her_ , the more questions they asked, and the more he had to admit that today was the first time they'd even had a real _conversation_.

“She's very nice, but it's not serious.” they decided, and Bombur didn't have the words to explain that it was the most serious thing in his whole _life_ , and also he didn't know if it was serious to _her_. Mirra was like Bofur in how she could so easily talk and make friends, and he didn't know how she felt about him. 

“You have to come with us.” they decided, explaining how much less money they'd be able to make without his support, explaining how they'd lose money staying here. The community was too small and they'd been here too recently for there to be a big market for the toys that made up the majority of the family's income. 

Everything had felt so simple and _right_ when it had been just Bombur and Mirra. He hadn't doubted that she liked him as much as he liked her. 

He wasn't sure at all anymore. 

He lay in bed, going over and over his conversation with her in his mind. 

He'd been talking _so much_. 

Too much. 

Mirra couldn't have been interested in his boring life, and he'd been talking and talking at her. She must have been so _bored_... no wonder she was relieved when Bofur came home so she didn't have to talk to awkward boring Bombur anymore. 

He'd made such a fool of himself. 

He rolled over and hid his face in the pillow. 

He had to hope she didn't dislike him now. 

He _had_ to be more careful. 

 

The dessert was a simple carrot cake that didn't need much attention once it had been baked. Bombur spent his time perfecting the chicken and dumplings instead. 

They were marvelous stewing birds, the chickens they'd gotten, old laying hens that cooked up into a rich fragrant broth that hardly needed to be seasoned. 

The trick with birds of that quality was to not overpower their natural flavor. Garlic, thyme and peppercorns were all he put into the broth, leaving the pot on the back burner almost-simmering for hours until the tough old hens were nearly falling apart. 

The broth was poured into a new pot with caramelized onions, carrot rounds, and just enough salt and pepper while Bombur and a few other cooks and picked the carcasses, throwing the bones away and keeping the meat separate. 

The dumplings had to be perfect to complement the soup. Bombur seasoned the flour with thyme and parsley, pepper and garlic, before cutting the butter into it evenly and stirring the water in, careful not to overmix. 

He spooned the dumpling dough evenly over the simmering broth and vegetables, putting the lid on tight and patiently _not peeking_ until they were done. 

Bombur hoped that Mirra liked chicken and dumplings. It was not a meal on the normal rotation, but with the good price the chickens had been going for...

The dumplings had cooked up light and fluffy, and Bofur smiled as he carefully spooned them off of the now-thickened soup into a serving dish. He added the reserved chicken meat to the pot, and it was ready to serve. It was warm and rich and heavenly and he _hoped_ Mirra liked it. 

He hoped even more that she still liked _him_. 

He noticed as soon as she came in, and she noticed him too – bouncing on her feet and smiling widely when she saw him. 

“Oh, Bombur... it smells _amazing_.” she gushed as she went through the line, serving herself a big bowl of soup and adding a heap of dumplings on top. 

Bombur could feel himself blushing as the knot of uncertainty that had been building in his gut since the night before vanished without a trace. 

“ _and_ carrot cake?” She grinned at him, just at him, as though no one else even existed, “You'll spoil me, I could just _kiss_ you.” 

Bombur had thought he was blushing before. 

He wondered vaguely if his face was going to catch on fire from all the blood rushing to it as she laughed that beautiful ringing laugh and sailed away to her table. 

A couple of the other cooks were laughing at him a little but he didn't mind. One of the older cooks handed him a bowl and waved him away. 

“Go eat with her.” She ordered, eyes laughing, “You'll chop your own fingers off, the state you're in...” 

Bombur didn't need to be told a second time. He hung his apron up and served himself as quickly as he could – not forgetting to bring her a piece of carrot cake. 

He was taking his normal route around her table to find a space across from Mirra, but she caught his sleeve on his way past her. 

“Sit with me.” she said, blue-green eyes sparkling up at him, then turned to the Dwarves beside her “Oy, make room!” She kicked and pushed, and they laughingly gave way until there was a clear space beside her. She pulled Bombur down into it. 

They were sitting very close together – Mirra was smiling at him from the corner of her eye as her boot snuck around the back of his so their feet were together the way they'd been when they sat in front of the stove the night before. 

“...can't stay long.” he told her, “just a few weeks.” 

“Oh...” Mirra's disappointment was clear on her face, and Bombur wanted nothing more than to tell his brother and cousin to go hang. He wanted to stay _here_ , he wanted to stay with _her_. 

He _couldn't_ though. He couldn't. They needed him and they _were_ family. They had always taken care of him... 

Mirra rested her head briefly against his shoulder. “You'll be back though?” she asked. 

“I _promise_.” he said, and she smiled, returning to her food. She talked with her friends who were not glaring at Bombur the way they'd been yesterday, so that was a good sign, and her boot was still affectionately wrapped around his, and Bombur wasn't sure he could be more happy. 

He had to go eventually, of course, the kitchen needed him. 

“Bombur...” Mirra stopped him as he was leaving. “I can't today, but do you want to meet me after work tomorrow?” she asked. 

Bombur had been wrong about not being able to be more happy. 

“Yes.” he said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have never had chicken and dumplings from a well-aged free-range chicken I feel very sorry for you because there is nothing that compares. 
> 
> Many thanks to frabbity for suggesting Chicken and Dumplings.


	12. Home-Fried Potatoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bombur meets the Brothers.

Sidgra and Vegdra had been warned that if they were anything but absolutely polite to Bombur, they would be facing Mirra's wrath.

Bombur's family had been very friendly to her. She could only try to get her brothers to be as kind to him.

Sidgra and Vegdra had demanded to know if Bombur was the Dwarf who'd made her sad, and her lack of answer had been taken as confirmation. Mirra had had to get a little _creative_ with her threats to ensure that they would be on their best behavior. Sweet Bombur was cautious enough without being threatened by her lunk-head brothers.

Mirra was waiting for him when Bombur got out of work, he blushed when she took his hand. She knew she was likely rushing things, but she only had a few weeks until he was leaving again. She had to make the most of it.

She walked with him, wandering pointlessly as she coaxed him out of his shell until he was relaxed and talking – hesitantly telling her a funny story that had happened at work and blushing when she laughed – before she brought him home.

She asked him if he _wanted_ to meet her brothers first, of course. He was so soft-spoken and gentle it would be easy to walk over him, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. Bombur seemed nervous but he agreed, blushing again when she squeezed his hand in gratitude. He wasn't at all the kind of Dwarf her brothers wanted for her, but she could only hope that when they saw how _sweet_ he was they would at least be happy for her.

Vegdra was of course 'casually' lounging outside the front door sharpening his sword. His eyebrows climbed as he took Bombur in, his disbelief obvious. His eyes got stuck on Bombur's magnificent beard loop for a moment, his fingers twitching as he tried to figure it out.

“Bombur, this is my brother Vegdra.” Mirra introduced as Vegdra set his sword aside and stood, puffing himself up a little to show off his warrior's physique. He was only just a tiny bit taller than Bombur.

“Vegdra meet Bombur. Be _nice_.” She reminded, and her brother nodded.

“At your service.” Bombur bowed politely, and Vegdra returned the greeting under Mirra's watchful eyes before she led Bombur into the house.

It was Sidgra's turn to cook dinner, so he was waging war across one half of the kitchen. Once he'd looked Bombur over and pondered his beard loop and tried to make himself look bigger (he was a little shorter than Bombur) and politely greeted him, Mirra got them some light ale to drink and sat herself down at the table with Bombur.

Bombur smiled at her and Mirra smiled back. He'd met both her brothers without being insulted or unreasonably threatened, which considering her brothers was better than expected.

Now, if the rest of the evening went so well...

 

It had started with Bombur quietly suggesting to Sidgra that there was an easier way to peel and chop garlic.

Mirra idly worked on some design for a piece she was hoping to smith and tried not to laugh. She felt a little bad that Bombur had just gotten off work after cooking for hours and was cooking when he was supposed to be her guest, but she'd never really gotten to see him in his element before and he did seem to be enjoying himself.

Vegdra had come in to see Bombur demonstrating better knife technique to Sidgra so his potatoes came out in even cubes, and had somehow gotten roped into helping too even though it wasn't his turn.

Bombur didn't _say_ much, an occasional quiet “like this” as he demonstrated something, but he was absolutely in charge. Sidgra's old standby of home-fried potatoes with salt-pork and onions had never smelled so good. Bombur had him cooking things in stages, when usually he just threw everything together in the pan and hoped for the best.

Finally they threw everything back in the pan together and Bombur seasoned it up with pepper and a little oregano, tasting it and nodding proudly.

Then he seemed to realize that he had taken over cooking in someone else's kitchen and blushed, handing the spoon to Sidgra and retreating back to sit with Mirra. Mirra affectionately hooked her boot around his and bumped shoulders with him, smiling to let him know that he hadn't done anything wrong.

Vegdra and Sidgra served themselves big plates of the potatoes, and pushed Mirra's design sketches to the side of the table to eat. They didn't say anything as they ate, but their eyes as they looked from their food to each other were eloquent praise of the flavor.

Mirra and Bombur had already eaten... but Mirra served them both up a small plate of potatoes. A little extra snack never hurt anyone.

The potatoes were marvelous – crisp on the outside and melting inside, the salt pork was diced and fried into flavorful crunchyness and dispersed evenly through the potatoes, and the onions were sweet and tender and brought the whole thing together into perfection.

“These...” Mirra said, “Are the _very best_ home fries I have ever had.” Bombur blushed as Sidgra and Vegdra made loud agreeing noises.

Bombur couldn't stay much longer, he excused himself to go back to his family. Sidgra and Vegdra saw him off with a friendly wave, and then turned toward Mirra, nearly synchronized in their movements and expressions.

Mirra calmly looked back.

Vegdra scratched his head. “He's not a _warrior_.” he said.

“He's stronger than he looks, though.” Sidgra mused, pulling on one of his beard braids pensively.

Vegdra looked at Sidgra, Sidgra shrugged.

“You can keep him.” Vegdra decided.

“Anyone who can do _that_ with potatoes is worth keeping.” Sidgra agreed.

“Oh _thank you_.” Mirra scoffed, drawing one of her design papers toward herself to work on, “because I _need_ your approval to keep seeing him.”

Still, it had gone so much better than she had feared.

Her brothers hugged her from both sides, Vegdra bumped the side of her forehead with his.

“We want you to be happy.” He said, quietly, letting her go.

Sidgra bumped foreheads with her on the other side, “If he makes you sad again, we'll chop him into bits!”

“Mmhmm.” Vegdra agreed, nodding firmly.

...of course they had to ruin it at the end. They wouldn't be her brothers if they didn't.

“Shoo!” she said, waving them both away, “You're not chopping _anyone_ into bits!” but she couldn't keep her smile contained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me an absolutely disgraceful amount of time to write this short chapter... I blame it on the fact that I was sweating to death the entire time.


	13. strong tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bifur and Bofur _still_ aren't listening...

The few weeks Bombur had to spend with Mirra passed far too quickly. They spent as much time together as they could, between work and family, but it just wasn't _enough_.

He didn't want to go.

Jarn didn't want him to leave either. The solid little Dwarf had pulled Bombur aside to talk.

“I'm happy to have you whenever you come through.” ze said earnestly, “You've got work here whenever you want, but I'd rather keep you. If you stayed I could offer you better pay, more responsibility...”

Bombur explained that _he_ wasn't the one Jarn would have to convince, and ze let it go with a sad shake of hir head.

The time had gone far too quickly. A few weeks after so long wasn't _enough_... and it would be at least another year before Bifur and Bofur brought them back this way.

Bombur and Mirra had been sitting up on top of her family's house, talking about nothings, Bombur at least was trying not to think about how _badly_ he was going to miss her. He didn't want to spoil their last evening together with sad thoughts.

Eventually the conversation drifted off and they sat in silence, kicking their boots over the edge of the wall, shoulders touching.

“It's getting late.” Mirra said. “You're leaving early...”

“I can stay a little longer.” Bombur said. Being with Mirra sounded much better than sleep, even though he knew he would be tired the next morning.

Mirra smiled at him, eyes crinkling up in the way that made Bombur's heart speed up. He held her hand, running his thumb across the back of her knuckles, feeling the calluses and little burn scars of her blacksmith work.

“You _will_ be back?” Mirra asked, again.

Bombur nodded, “I promise. A year, year and a half at most.” It depended on what routes Bifur and Bofur chose for them, their schedules were only ever approximate.

Mirra let go of his hand and leaned her head against his shoulder, wrapping her arm around his back. Bombur cautiously leaned his head down against hers and put his arm around her waist, and he was glad there was no one to see how hard he was blushing.

She smelled like fire and metal and he closed his eyes to just try to _remember_ what this felt like.

“Don't forget me.” she said, quietly.

“Never.” He promised, squeezing her close with the arm around her waist, rubbing his cheek against her braids, “Never.”

 

It was both better and worse this time around.

It was better because this time Mirra knew that Bombur was coming back. It was worse because she missed him even more than the time before, and this time she was _waiting_ for him instead of trying to get over him.

She'd had to punch Vegdra when he made disparaging comments about Bombur and his leaving, and now neither of her brothers said anything bad about him... at least not in her presence.

She worked hard, to keep herself distracted, and she waited.

 

The first few months after they left Mirra, Bifur and Bofur made a point to tell Bombur how helpful he was.

It really only made him feel bad, because he was selfish and sometimes he didn't _care_ how much his family needed him, he wanted to go back to Mirra.

When they eventually stopped and things went back to normal it made Bombur feel worse because, if he was going to be lonely and miserable, at least they could _notice_ that he was doing it for them.

But those were petty selfish thoughts so he didn't say anything. He worked in kitchen after kitchen in town after town while Bifur sold toys and Bofur mined.

His family needed him, and they had always been there for him. He could be there for them, and he could wait until they traveled back to the southern end of the Blue Mountains to see Mirra again.

 

Mirra woke up in the night with the idea in her head, and she laughed because it was so perfect... and then because she knew that going back to sleep would make her lose the idea she got up and started sketching and planning it immediately.

It had to be light enough for everyday use, but solid and heavy enough to make a good weapon... and the handle would have to be wood so it didn't heat up...

She was deep in her design notes, still wearing nothing but her night clothes and a blanket around her shoulders, when Sidgra and Vegdra got up.

They knew better than to disturb her when she was so engrossed with a project. Sidgra gave her a cup of strong tea, which she absentmindedly accepted and sipped at while she sketched different possibilities.

...she would have to ask some of the cooks about _capacity_ , it wouldn't do to make it too big or too small to be of real use...

 

Little Lifur was helping Bifur hammer out the design for a new toy – Bifur thought the flying horse should have bird-type wings, but Lifur was sure that bat-type wings would be much better, and also fangs and maybe claws – while he plotted out the route for their next trip with Bofur.

Bombur could feel his heart clench in his chest when he realized they weren't even _considering_ going back to Mirra.

He reminded them quietly that he would like to go back to the settlement she lived in.

They explained that there was no way they could... they'd been there too recently, they would most definitely _lose_ money, going there again so soon.

The looks they gave him were pitying when he mentioned Mirra, and they didn't say it but he could _see_ them wondering how he could possibly think a Darrowdam like her would want anything to do with him.

He didn't care. He didn't _care_ that he didn't have much of a chance with her. She seemed to like him, she'd given him more hope than he'd ever hoped to be able to have, and he'd _promised_ her he'd be back.

“Maybe next year.” Bofur offered, gently.

“...alright.” Bombur said, quietly. There was no point in arguing if they weren't even going to _hear_ a word he said. Bofur smacked him on the shoulder affectionately and went back to planning a route with Bifur, and Bombur crept away quietly to his room.

He didn't want them to see him cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be another chapter today...


	14. Almond Shortbread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: Standing up.

Bombur didn't mention Mirra again.

He didn't say much of anything at all, but that wasn't new and nobody noticed.

He worked hard, even if cooking felt like _work_ in a way it never had before, and he kept track of his money. Usually Bifur took care of all the money, since he had the best mind for numbers, but Bombur started to keep track of his own. Counting up how much he made, and subtracting what supplies Bifur and Bofur bought for him, so he knew how much of the money could be safely called _his_.

They made their usual stop in Ered Luin, and Bombur made his yearly stop at the apothecary's shop to buy a little tin of burn ointment and to resupply the first-aid kit.

He bought two tins this year. He knew how much of the money was his, and he knew he could afford it. Bifur's toys made the most money, of course, but Bombur's share wasn't _insignificant_.

They made their way south, and the closer they got the more Bombur knew he was doing the right thing.

When they reached the point where they no longer needed a wagon, packing everything on the pony's back instead, he made sure his pack had only his own things packed in it, and _all_ his own things, and his share of the money.

He didn't say anything when they reached the little crossroads, one path leading south along the line of the mountains , the other leading up and under the mountains to Mirra. He just turned and kept walking.

“Bombur?” Bofur realized first that Bombur had turned. “Bombur, where are you going?”

“To Mirra.” Bombur answered, not slowing.

“Oh, come _on_ Bombur...” Bofur chided, but Bombur ignored him.

They couldn't just let him go, of course. It only took Bifur and Bofur a moment to catch up to him and stop him. Bombur knew they couldn't really _stop_ him, nothing could stop him if he really got moving, but he didn't want to hurt them.

They were _still_ his family.

“What is this, Bombur?” Bifur asked.

“You _know_ we can't go there this year.” Bofur added. They each had a hold of one of his arms.

“You don't have to come with me.” Bombur tried very hard to defiantly meet their eyes before failing and looking down. “I _promised_.” He added in a whisper.

Bifur and Bofur let go of his arms, since he wasn't trying to escape.

“But who's going to take care of us? We need you. We'll starve without you!” Bofur wheedled, but Bombur shook his head.

“You know how to cook.” he said at the general direction of the ground, “I need to take care of _myself_...” It sounded so horrible when he said it out loud. It sounded so selfish. He clenched his jaw closed to stop himself from apologizing. He needed to go to Mirra. He had promised her.

“Mirra is a sweet lass, but it wasn't very serious with her.” Bifur said.

“It _is_ serious.” Bombur argued.

Bofur laughed, and it cut even if he didn't mean it to be cruel, “Everyone knows you haven't even...” He made only _marginally_ vague horizontal motions with his hands, and Bombur punched him. He hadn't punched anyone in _years_. He didn't _like_ hurting people, and he was much stronger than most people expected him to be – just because he had some padding on top.

Bofur blinked up at him from the ground in shocked surprise, and even Bifur took a step back.

“It's not like _that_ , I _love_ her!” Bombur growled, clenching his fists, “I'm going to her, and you can't stop me. Even... even if you tied me up and dragged me with you, you couldn't _make_ me work for you.” The spark of anger faded quickly, and he ended closer to a whimper than he would have liked. He could feel his bottom lip trembling traitorously and he turned away, stomping down the road he'd chosen.

They still couldn't just let him go, of course.

“Wait, Bombur...” Bifur headed him off, holding out his hands to block him but not trying to grab him. “we need to plan where to meet back up with you.”

Figuring out when and where to meet was more complicated than it should have been, and they ended up setting up camp there at the crossroads. Bombur cooked dinner with more hope than he'd had in a long time, and they went over Bifur's map together. It was decided that Bofur and Bifur would go south around the mountains the way they'd planned, and Bombur would meet them on the other side in about three months – they would send a letter to him when they were near.

“You're right.” Bifur said quietly as they sat around the fire, poking it with sticks as their dinner settled, not yet ready to go to bed.

Bombur looked at him curiously.

“You're your own Dwarf first.” Bifur gave him a small smile, and Bombur smiled back, the little guilty knot in his belly easing slightly.

He was going to get to spend _months_ with Mirra, even if it was going to be hard because he would have to talk to people on his own to find a house for himself and do everything on his own, and his family didn't resent him for it.

They were his family and he _did_ love them, even if they didn't always _listen_.

 

Bombur found Jarn first and basked in hir smile when he said he could stay for a full three months, and maybe a little longer. He mentioned he had to go find a house to stay in, and the steel-haired Dwarf sent him off with a name of someone to ask.

Jarn's friend happened to have a little place open, a one-room apartment with a nice kitchen at a very good price. With the awkwardness of that taken care of, Bombur unpacked his things and cleaned himself up... and went looking for Mirra.

He'd never gone to the smithy where she worked before, and at this time of the day that's where she would be.

Bombur could feel the heat of the forges before he even stepped through the door.

He'd been inside a smithy before of course, he was a Dwarf after all, but never one quite like _this_. He knew, in an abstract kind of way, that there were enough smiths it made the most sense to feed them in four shifts, but he'd never really stopped to think about how _many_ Dwarves that was – all working together in one smithy.

The sound of hammers was deafening, everything lit bright by lamps and the red light of the forges, the sharp smell of hot metal overwhelming as sparks flew from red-hot metal.

...and there was Mirra. She was standing with four other smiths around a table, all five of them hammering in rhythm on a single piece... how large a thing must it be to need five smiths on it at once? He couldn't see from the door and he didn't want to disrupt anyone.

She was so beautiful, backlit against the red of the forges as she swung her massive hammer again and again, the muscles of her arms bulging, a little sweat visible on her exposed neck, gleaming in the firelight, and a look of complete peace and concentration on her face.

He couldn't interrupt her... any change to the rhythm would likely end in a tangle of hammers and a ruined piece and he couldn't do that to her.

Bombur crept away unnoticed... there were a few things he ought to buy for his apartment – he'd left most of the food with Bifur and Bofur, and he'd see her tomorrow when he started working again.

 

Mirra knew the instant she stepped into the dining hall... something in the smell settled into her stomach with a happy hum of anticipation.

“Bombur's back!” she gasped. It hadn't _quite_ been a whole year, but there was no mistaking the smells she was smelling – everything brighter and stronger and richer, as comforting as being wrapped in a warm blanket.

She bounced on her toes, trying to see past the line to see him, she _knew_ she would see him back behind the counter.

_There he was!_

Mirra waved, grinning like a loon, she knew. She ignored her friends elbowing each other and laughing at her as Bombur blushed and gave a little half wave.

When she finally reached the counter she couldn't help herself. She darted around it and threw herself on him, hugging him as hard as she could.

Bombur wrapped his arms around her and held her close against his chest.

“...Mirra...” He said, and in just her name she could _hear_ how happy he was.

“I missed you _so much_ Bombur!” she said.

“Enough of this!” One of the older cooks interrupted, laughing, “No smiths behind the counter, you know the rules!”

“Sorry!” Mirra blushed, ducking back around the counter to where her friends had saved her space in line. “What do you have for me today, Bombur?” she asked.

“Herb-roasted mutton with gravied turnips.” He smiled, his eyes seeing only her, “And almond shortbread.”

One of the other cooks had handed him a plate and he started to serve himself from the opposite side of the counter as she served herself.

Bombur took two servings of shortbread and carried them for them as they walked together to a table, no words needing to be said.

They sat down together and Bombur hooked his boot around hers, blushing hard as he watched her out of the corner of her eye to be sure it was ok, and she leaned her head against his shoulder with a smile to reassure him.

The food was perfect, completely deliciously perfect, and the company was even better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not intend to write Bifur and Bofur as _cruel_ just maybe a little thoughtless (especially on Bofur's part), and a little set in their ways. I hope I managed that. 
> 
> Bifur stops trying to stop Bombur when he says he is in _love_ because you don't mess with Dwarves and their Ones. Bombur had never said that before, and his family hadn't realized he was feeling like _that_ about Mirra.


	15. battle-spoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which a ladle is given.

Mirra had invited him to come over to her house after work.

It was strange to Bombur to come home to an empty house after work – to not have to cook for anyone else when he got home. He took the unopened tin of burn ointment out of his pack and smiled, making sure his beard was all in order, that the woven-in ends weren't sneaking out, before he went to Mirra's family's house.

Sidgra and Vegdra were having an argument in the kitchen so Mirra ushered him back out and they took the steps up to the roof, sitting comfortably side by side, watching the last of the reflected light of sunset fade away so the settlement was lit by lamps alone.

It took him three tries to actually pull the little tin out of his pocket and hand it to her.

“What's this?” she asked, giving him that sweet gap-toothed smile, the most beautiful Darrowdam in the world, with those lovely soft-looking lips... and he needed to stop thinking about her mouth _right now_.

He could feel his face burning as he looked down at her hands where it was safe.

“Burn ointment, the best I ever found...” He said, “I always have a tin, and I thought that you might...” he touched a few of the larger burn scars on the back of her hand.

“Oh, Bombur...” she said warmly, her hands closing around the tin, and she leaned against him for a one-armed hug. He wrapped both his arms around her.

He never wanted to let her go. For _this_ it was absolutely worth it to have had to fight with Bofur and Bifur.

He never wanted to let her go but he did without hesitation the instant she started to pull away. She stood, smiling and offering him a hand up.

“I've got something for you, too...” Mirra said, blue-green eyes sparkling as she led him back down the stairs, “The lunkheads are probably done fighting by now...” she said as she peeked into the house, then nodded and led him in. She left him standing in the kitchen and went into her room, coming back out with something behind her back.

She blushed a little, biting her bottom lip, before she drew it out, watching his face closely.

It was beautiful... a big solid ladle with a dark wooden handle. A custom piece, the kind he would never really be able to commission for himself.

“If it's not right, I can reshape it.” She said quickly, “I want it to be perfect for you...”

His hands closed around it and he lifted it as she trailed off. It was heavy, a satisfying heft to it – a steel core in the handle, he would guess – and her maker's mark was stamped subtly on the back of the handle.

“It's perfect...” he breathed, his own gift of burn ointment suddenly seeming very poor in front of the work of an artist like Mirra. He clutched the beautiful ladle to his chest.

“I... I wish I'd gotten you something better.” it tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop it, “I can't give you something I've made... I don't have a craft, I...”

Mirra shook her head, laughing a little as she reached out to squeeze his hands that had frozen white-knuckled around the ladle.

“Of _course_ you have a craft.” she soothed gently, “You've been giving me things you've made since you gave me that apple turnover...” her eyes smiled up at him and he could feel his face going hot with a blush again. He let go his death-grip on the ladle and squeezed her hand back.

“...before that.” he confessed. “I thought... if I made the food good enough maybe you would notice me?”

Mirra blushed as she shook her head at him again, her loose red-gold braids catching the lamplight. She bit her bottom lip a little again, looking up at him almost as though _she_ were the shy one.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked, and Bombur could only nod.

Her work-roughened hand was warm on the back of his neck as she stepped into him, her breath soft against his lips before their lips met.

His eyes closed on instinct, one hand going around her to pull her close while her smooth soft lips played gently against his own.

Of course it could not last.

“Save your eyes, Vegdra!” Sidgra said, and Bombur's eyes flew open as he drew back from the kiss in surprise. Sidgra and Vegdra were coming out of their room, Sidgra's eyes were laughing at Bombur while his hands were over Vegdra's, blocking his taller brother from seeing.

“They're _exchanging fluids_.” Sidgra laughed.

“In the _kitchen?_ ” Vegdra wrestled Sidgra's hands out of his face and peered around him to see Bombur, who wished more than anything that the mountain rock would open and accept him back into it at that very moment.

“aww.. they were just kissing.” Vegdra said disappointedly, then he brightened, “Do you like the battle-spoon?” He asked.

“It's a _ladle_ and you can both _leave now_.” Mirra said, and her laughing brothers tumbled over one another in their efforts to flee the house.

“...battle-spoon?” Bombur asked, taking a step back and looking at the ladle that was still in his hands. Mirra laughed as she turned to the pantry to look for something for them to drink.

“A joke my brothers made up...” She said, handing him a mug and sitting down at the table. He sat beside her and drank to try and quench his burning face. “There's a little truth to it, though... You could brain a Warg with that thing and it wouldn't take damage.”

“Oh...” Bombur said.

“It's silly...” she said, gently knocking her boot against his, “I was just thinking, you're no warrior, and it's no weapon... but you're stronger than you look and you can take care of yourself if you have to. It just seemed to _fit_.”

“I think it does fit.” he said, and underneath the table their hands found each other, and their fingers intertwined as they affectionately bumped shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, about the light of sunset - in the interior shots of Erebor in the hobbit movie it seemed brighter-lit than you might expect an under-mountain place to be. I think Dwarves probably have very clever ways of opening small holes in their mountains that let a surprising amount of light in. Also, they can probably see better in the dark than we humans can. 
> 
> When I think about Mirra's smile, I think of Eve Myles. She doesn't look much like Eve Myles otherwise, but she's got the smile.
> 
> Also there is art!  
> http://mia-newarcher.tumblr.com/post/51275240988/http-archiveofourown-org-works-789649-chapters-15


	16. Chocolate Cherry Tarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love and family.

It was so _quiet_ at night.

Bombur wrapped himself tighter in his blankets and tried to sleep. He would have thought that not listening to his brother and cousin snoring would make it easier to sleep, but it didn't.

There was no sound, just the heavy stillness of the rock, and he could not sleep.

In the evenings when he didn't go see Mirra, because he couldn't go see her _every_ day, there was no Bifur and Bofur bantering across the table... there was no singing, no teasing, no fiddling with gears and bits to make new toys, none of the little things that let Bombur fade comfortably into the background of his family. Not being noticed much was _not_ the same as being alone. 

He missed them.

He'd never been away from Bofur, really, and he'd rarely been away from Bifur since his parents left for Moria. They were a good team, the three of them. Bombur didn't mind cooking for them, and after the first flush of freedom he missed doing that for them... like he missed that Bifur always did the dishes and Bofur always did the laundry.

They made a good team, and Bombur _missed_ them.

Not that he was sorry he'd left them to come to Mirra. Not at all. Not even a little.

It was worth it to be a little lonely sometimes for the best Darrowdam in the world.

It was just so very _quiet_.

Bombur rolled over, cocooning himself in his blankets. He wouldn't have to worry about being alone much longer. He'd gotten the letter, a short thing in Bifur's square hand – he only had a few weeks before he made his way out the other side of the mountain and met up with them.

He'd missed his family, but he would miss Mirra more.

 

The cherry preserves were dark, rich and indulgent. It was almost sinful to taste them on their own.

 _Almost_ wasn't good enough.

Filled into tiny cups of shatteringly crisp pastry crust and topped with an artistic drizzle of dark chocolate – it was good enough. It was selfish of Bombur to have spent the money on cherry preserves and chocolate instead of saving it for his family... but the combination was so good he couldn't feel bad about it.

He put the tray of completed tarts in the back of Mirra's pantry to stay cool and checked on the pumpkin soup, stirring it with the beautiful ladle that never left his side, adjusting the flavors to make it perfect.

The sounds of voices drifted through the house – most of the guests were in the front of the house and up on the roof, so Bombur was safe hiding in the kitchen.

Jarn came in, the steel-haired Dwarf shaking hir head at him but accepting the taste of the soup Bombur offered... It had turned out just the way he'd hoped – sharply spicy over the sweetness of roasted pumpkin, tempered by the addition of sour cream to soothe the bite and blend the flavors.

“You've got a gift.” Jarn smiled, “I wish you'd stay. I know Mirra'd like it too...” ze wheedled. 

“...maybe someday...” Bombur said, and could feel himself blushing as Jarn chuckled. Bombur would like nothing more than to stay here with Mirra forever, even if it _was_ very early in their courtship still, but he couldn't picture Bifur and Bofur ever _not_ needing him to come with them.

Mirra bounced into the kitchen, favoring Bombur with a quick peck on the lips that would have had him blushing if he hadn't been already.

“Is the soup ready?” she asked, and Bombur nodded.

“Good.” She grinned, grabbing a potholder and throwing one to him, “We can't have you hiding in the kitchen through your _whole_ going-away party.”

She was right, of course, even though Bombur wished a little that he _could._ They carried the big pot of spicy pumpkin soup out to the table that was already spread with crusty bread and bowls. He used his wonderful ladle to serve the soup up to Mirra's friends and the Dwarves who worked in the kitchen with him.

It could have been worse, with Mirra there to do most of the talking it wasn't bad, but Bombur was glad when it was over and they could sit on the roof, shoulder to shoulder, eating the last of the chocolate cherry tarts. It would have been perfect if Sidgra and Vegdra weren't also up on the roof, full of energy, wrestling around and trying to steal more than their fair share of the tarts.

It was family... not the same as his own family, but still comfortable.

Mirra wiggled happily as she ate her cherry tart, savoring the decadence of the chocolate and the cherries. She smiled at him, drawing him over for a kiss, and he could taste the chocolate on her lips.

“Ugh, they're _kissing_ again...” Vegdra commented. Bombur had gotten used to ignoring them while he kissed Mirra. They _always_ had to comment on it.

“...grab the pie-things and run!” Sidgra hissed, and Bombur grabbed his ladle up and blocked Vegdra's hands just an instant before he got the tarts. The muddy-blond Dwarf grinned, completely unembarrassed to have been caught.

“You two can go now.” Mirra said. “Leave the tarts.”

“All of them?” Vegdra asked, heartbroken, while Sidgra made sad noises and tried his best puppy-eyes.

“You can have one more.” Mirra relented with a laugh, and her brothers grabbed one each and bolted.

“Now, where were we?” Mirra asked, eyes sparkling in the lamplight, and Bombur pulled her to him to resume the kiss where it had been interrupted.

 

Vegdra and Sidgra had decided to accompany Bombur out of the mountain... they were heading that direction anyway to meet with a few friends and go Warg hunting – there had been rumors of a black Warg, but even regular gray and brown Warg skins fetched a good price, and fall was the time of year to hunt them.

They were much more serious preparing to go out hunting than they were when they were staying at home. Sidgra went over his axes again and again, making sure they were in good order, while Vegdra fussed over his sword and knives.

It was a little strange to watch them change into swaggering grim-faced warriors as they stepped out of the mountain and into the little village of Men – only their eyes were still laughing.

It wasn't hard to find Bifur and Bofur, they had their little stall set up with their toys on display and Bofur's laugh as he told a joke carried far.

“Bombur!” Bofur shouted as soon as he caught sight of him, grinning wide under his flop-eared hat, jumping up to clap him heartily on the shoulder. “You've _no idea_ how much I've missed your round face...” Bombur ducked away before he could get his cheeks pinched, and they settled for knocking foreheads together. Bofur smelled like smoke and rock-dust and _family_ , and Bombur breathed deep.

He'd _missed_ them.

Bifur was packing the last of the toys away, he smiled at Bombur. “You look well.” he said, and Bombur nodded.

“...it was good.” he said.

Bofur looked around Bombur and noticed Mirra's brothers, he straightened up a bit, grinning wider.

“This is Bifur, and I'm Bofur. At your service!” he introduced, and Bombur realized with a sudden wash of embarrassment that _he_ should have been the one introducing them to each other, since he was the one who knew everyone.

“Vegdra and Sidgra, at yours.” They answered, not seeming upset at Bombur's thoughtlessness.

“Will you be traveling with us for a bit?” Bofur asked hopefully, while Bombur handed the purse of his earnings to Bifur and helped break down the little stall so it could be packed on a pony, almost as though he'd never been gone.

“We're going the other way.” Sidgra shook his head.

“The Warg-hunting's been better to the south, these last few years.” Vegdra added.

“Ah, but if you go far enough north you can hunt the white-frosted Wargs who change color in the winter.” Bofur argued.

“Maybe in a few years we'll go that way again.” Sidgra said, and Vegdra nodded thoughtfully.

“We should get moving before it gets later.” Vegdra said, “We don't want to be late meeting our friends...”

“Take care Bombur, use the battle-spoon well!” Sidgra said, his laughing eyes shining though he kept his face grim.

Bombur cuffed him affectionately on the back of the head, “It's a _ladle_.” he corrected, then knocked foreheads with them both before they left.

Bifur and Bofur raised eyebrows at his familiarity with them, but didn't say anything.

“Battle-spoon?” Bofur asked.

“Ladle.” Bombur corrected again, pulling the ladle out of the strap he'd attached it to his pack with. He admired it for a moment before handing it to Bofur.

“Heavy...” Bofur observed, swinging it, “It _is_ a battle-spoon!”

Bombur grabbed it back indignantly, and Bofur laughed.

“We've got a camp _that_ end of town.” Bifur said, gesturing, and Bombur picked up a few things to help carry them to camp... he wondered if they'd left anything simmering in the coals for dinner or if he would have to start from scratch.

Back with his family, like he'd never been gone.

He wondered if the rest of his life would be spent missing either Mirra or Bifur and Bofur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is Art of Sidgra and Vegdra!   
> http://mia-newarcher.tumblr.com/post/51330727602/vegdra-and-sidgra-a-ladle-and-some-stew-by


	17. letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lari and Lifur decided they were tired of being so much in the background, so I gave them a little screen time today.

Bombur smiled as he watched Bifur greet his family when they made it back – little Lifur a nut-brown streak screaming 'Adad!” before tackling Bifur to be swung up into his arms – Lari limping out of the house at a more sedate pace, leaning heavily on her cane and smiling widely. 

They held one another, and they _matched_ , in a way – Bifur's wild black hair just beginning to be touched with silver with Lari's gravity-defying thick brown curls a little further along, dark skin and light skin and little Lifur between them to bind them together. 

A _family_ , and Bombur's heart hurt. 

He would like that more than anything, to have a passel of little Darrows with Mirra – not that he knew if she wanted children – but he didn't think he _could_ do it the way Bifur and Lari did, happy to be apart for months and months at a time. 

What choice did he have, though? Bifur and Bofur had tried not to say much about it, but the months he had not been with them had clearly been hard. 

Lifur wiggled out from between Bifur and Lari to run over and be tickled by Bofur while he and Bombur took care of their packs and settled in to one of the places they called home. 

It couldn't really feel like a _home_ though, to Bombur, with it being so far away from Mirra. 

Bombur took over the cooking of dinner so Bifur and Lari could sneak away to catch up, with little Lifur perched on his hip to sneak tastes of the food and regale him with stories that never seemed to reach any sort of conclusion. 

Lifur thought Bombur's new ladle was wonderful, but of course Bofur had immediately called it a battle-spoon and the little one had latched onto that as it's true name instead. Bombur had the last laugh, though, as he armed Lifur with a wooden spoon and Bofur found himself under attack. 

Bofur and Lifur had managed to call a truce by the time Bifur and Lari reappeared, and Bombur served dinner. 

 

Bombur didn't have to _ask_ to go back to see Mirra when Bifur and Bofur were arguing their routes over the kitchen table. They decided to go around the southern end of the Mountains and then spend a few weeks visiting Mirra, deciding it had been long enough that they would make a decent profit on toys. 

It would be closer to a year and a half than a year, but at least they understood now that Bombur _needed_ to go see her. 

The temptation was strong to just go to Mirra when they were close, to choose the road that would go to her instead of away, but Bifur and Bofur had both asked him to stay with them this time. 

They needed him, and he _was_ going to her, just not as soon as he would have liked. 

He sent her a letter from the nearest town of Men. It was a short one, writing had never been his strong point and he didn't want to spend the money for a scribe. 

He didn't have the skill to send her the artful words she deserved, so he just told as close as he knew when they'd be there, and that he missed her. 

He hoped that the courier could be trusted to deliver it quickly. 

Bofur put his arm around Bombur's shoulders as he walked away, looking wistfully toward the mountain Mirra lived under. 

Anything he could have said would only have made it worse, but he was for once silent and just _there_ , and that made it a _little_ better. 

 

Mirra was walking through the small market, picking up a few things for dinner since it was her night to cook, when she heard her name shouted. 

She looked up to see Bombur, turning bright red next to his waving brother and laughing cousin... it would have been Bofur who called out to her, Bombur would have been far too shy. They were dusty and had heavy packs on their backs – they must have _just_ gotten back. 

“Bombur!” She shouted, dropping the beets she'd been considering and ran over, wrapping her arms around her cuddly Bombur, feeling him squeeze her tight in return. It had been far too long, but he was back now and everything was _right_ in the world. 

“I missed you.” Bombur said quietly. 

“I missed you too...” she said, and stretched up to kiss him. 

Bofur let out an admiring whistle, and Bombur dropped the kiss but didn't let her go, face flaming as Bifur smacked Bofur on the back of the head, nearly upsetting his flop-eared hat. 

Bofur laughed, undeterred. 

“It's good to see you again.” Bifur said with a smile, “but it's getting late and there's a lot of stuff we have to do...” 

Bombur tightened his grip on her in silent protest, and she kissed him again, a light peck. 

“I have things to do too...” she said, and he let her go, “I'll see you at work tomorrow?” 

“If Jarn will still have me.” Bombur said, and Mirra laughed. 

“Ze's been asking when you were going to come back, you'll be kidnapped one of these years if you're not careful!” 

Bombur nodded, reaching out to touch her cheek, his blue eyes soft, before he left with his brother and cousin. 

“You told is it went well, but you didn't say it went _that_ well!” she heard Bofur teasing before they were out of earshot, and couldn't help a small laugh. 

Of _course_ Bombur wouldn't have told his family. 

Sweet shy boy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lifur is Undecided, gender-wise. Do you know how hard it is to craft natural-sounding sentences without using pronouns?   
> *slams head against wall*


	18. Gravy pies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: A whole cow?
> 
> one of the suppliers messes up Jarn's order. Bombur saves the day. 
> 
> WARNING  
> for mildish description of processing an animal.  
> I'm sorry if that's squicky for people.

Jarn was swearing, which was very out of character for hir, Bombur had never seen the steel-haired little Dwarf in anything but a good mood. 

He grabbed an apron and followed the sound of swearing – and really it was very creative, he was a little impressed – to find Jarn in the meat pantry. No one else was in yet, he was a little early, he'd wanted to get himself oriented in the kitchen and see what ingredients were on hand. 

“Sorry Bombur.” Jarn said, the tirade cutting off mid-word when ze noticed Bombur. Bombur shrugged, he'd heard worse... he'd been _called_ worse a time or two, right before he hung his apron up and quit. He might be quiet but he _wouldn't_ put up with abuse. 

“What am I supposed to _do_ with this?” Jarn asked, gesturing at what appeared to be an entire small cow, skinned and cleaned but not carved. “I _ordered_ a fat spring calf, carved up, and _salted_. I am _never_ working with that supplier again. Oh, they're _long gone_ with my money, or I'd send this _right back_. Should have _known_ that the price was too good. Look at it, _look_ at it! That scrawny animal was a decade old if it's a day, and not an ounce of fat to be found! It'll be boot leather if I roast it... and we have to cook it _today_ because it's _not salted!_ ” Jarn cut hirself off before ze started swearing again, lips pressing together with distaste as ze glared at the offending cow. 

Bombur walked around the cow, nodding slightly to himself. Jarn was used to working with quality goods, but he'd worked with worse, cooking in the back of seedy taverns where the only meat to be had were hocks and necks which he sometimes suspected came from old work horses. He'd never carved up a _cow_ before, but the principle had to be the same same as sheep and deer, which he had.

“... could make good gravy pies.” Bombur said, standing beside Jarn again. The look of intense relief on Jarn's face was almost comical. 

“Just tell me what you need...” Jarn said earnestly. 

“We can salt the big cuts, with big crocks and a lot of crushed rock salt...” Bombur indicated the rump, loin, brisket, and shoulder, “the rest we slow-roast overnight in the ovens... _lots_ of onions and garlic, and a small cask of the thickest dark ale you can find.” 

“Thank _Mahal_ you're here.” Jarn smiled, “I could kiss you, but Mirra'd have my head!” Bombur blushed, and Jarn rushed away to gather what Bombur needed. 

Bombur got the kitchen's biggest cleaver and a sharpening stone, tucking his beard loop under his apron to keep it out of the way – and got to work. 

Jarn bustled in and out, spending more time in the kitchen than ze usually did, bringing in the emergency delivery of a huge bag of rock salt, sacks of onions and garlic, and the requested cask of ale. Various crocks were inspected and Bombur chose two, directing their placement in the coolest part of the back of the meat pantry. 

The _principle_ of carving up a cow was the same as a sheep or a deer, but in practice it was a much larger animal. He wasn't sure he would have been able to on his own, if the other cooks hadn't stopped into the meat pantry to check on him now and then and been open to his quiet requests to 'hold this' or 'lift that' or 'pull'. 

When he got the good cuts off the cow, the ones to be salted, he washed his hands and arms and took a short break to take care of them first. 

He cut the tops and bottoms off enough heads of garlic to cover the bottoms of the crocks, covering them with bay leaves and peppercorns and then several inches of crushed rock salt. Bombur deboned and butterflied the cuts of meat, and rolled them back up stuffed with garlic cloves and salt, before pressing them down into the crocks, adding more bay leaves and peppercorns and heads of garlic, and then burying the whole thing in more salt. 

Then he re-sharpened the cleaver and turned back to what was left of the cow. He just needed to break it down into manageably sized pieces now... which would take less finesse and more muscle. 

He was so focused on his task that he didn't realize how long it was taking until one of the other cooks came back to the pantry, a younger one who always asked Bombur's opinion whenever he was in the kitchen. 

“Um... Mirra was asking about you...” the cook started, and Bombur looked down at himself with a feeling of despair and panic. 

He was _covered_ in blood and bits of meat, there was really no way to butcher a cow, even a smallish one, without getting dirty – even taking off his apron and washing his arms wouldn't be enough, and he couldn't really run out to grab a change of clothes... he couldn't go out to see her like _this_ , and if he _didn't_ go out to see her would she think he was avoiding her? He wasn't! He hadn't seen her in _so long_ and he wanted _so badly_ to sit and eat with her but...

“Hey.” the young cook interrupted his racing thoughts, “She's not going to mind.” 

“... _I_ mind.” Bombur said. He _really_ didn't want to eat with the smell of blood so strong in his nose, and he doubted she would either. 

“Just come say hi.” the cook decided, “Clean yourself up a little, I'll explain to her.” 

Bombur could only nod, stripping off his stained apron and doing what he could to make himself decent with a few moments of cold water in the sink. 

He crept to the front of the kitchen hesitantly – to see that the third shift, the one Mirra ate in, was nearly over and most of the Dwarves had gone, just a few stragglers left. Mirra was waiting near the counter, smiling at him with that beautiful smile that never failed to make his heart race. 

“A whole cow?” she asked, eyes laughing, and Bombur nodded. She squeezed his hand, wrinkling her nose at him a little, but not in a mean way. 

“You'll have to tell me all about it... tonight?” she asked, smiling at him even though he was dirty and smelly and hadn't cooked anything for her and had lost track of time and not been able to eat with her... and he wished more than anything that he _could_ go see her tonight, but he was going to need a bath, and to wash his clothes, and he was _exhausted._ Butchering a cow was not really a one-Dwarf job, at all. 

“...tomorrow?” he asked, and Mirra was still smiling at him, even though he wasn't being a very good Dwarf to her at all. 

“Tomorrow.” she said, “I'll look forward to it.” She pressed a kiss to her index finger and pressed it to his cheek... he was too dirty to hug or kiss for real... but he still blushed. 

She turned back with a small wave before she left the dining room. 

Bombur shook the exhaustion off himself and drank a big mug of water before returning to finish butchering the cow. 

When it was _finally_ all in manageable pieces, he put it in big heavy-lidded baking pans and poured the ale over it. Then he peeled enough garlic and chopped enough onions to completely bury the bony pieces of beef. 

The fourth shift of smiths was done eating and the kitchen was cleaning up and winding down when he was done. He got some help to load the baking pans into the big stone ovens where it could slowly cook overnight while the ovens cooled. 

Jarn had Bombur clean himself up as well as he could and sit down and eat before he left, while Jarn cleaned up the mess left behind in the meat pantry hirself. Bombur hadn't felt hungry, with the smell of raw meat so strong, but once he was cleaned up a bit and the food was actually in front of him he was ravenous. 

Bombur was the last one out of the kitchen, other than Jarn. The little Dwarf put hir feet up and sipped a light ale while Bombur finished his dinner, sitting in companionable silence. 

The next morning the two of them were the first ones in again, but Jarn was in a much better mood. 

“It smells good!” ze grinned while they took the baking tins out of the ovens and set them out to cool.

While the roasted meat and onions cooled, Bombur made a stiff pie crust and set it in the back of the pantry to chill. He and a few other cooks picked the roasted meat off the bones, the long slow roast with ale and onions had made the tough meat fall-apart tender. The bones and gristle went into a big pot to be the base of a stock, while Bombur made a thick gravy with the meat juices and melting-soft onions and garlic, seasoning it up with salt and pepper and folding the tender roasted meat in right at the end so it wouldn't fall apart completely – there was a very fine line between a good gravy pie and a pie crust full of gray paste. Bombur knew how not to cross that line, but it was _especially_ important because he was serving them to sober smiths and not half-drunk tavern patrons... and Mirra. He might be serving her a version of cheap tavern food, but it was a _good_ version of cheap tavern food. 

He set the filling aside to cool and firm up and rolled out the pie crust, cutting plate-sized circles out of it for the pies, and keeping the trimmings for dessert. 

Each circle of pastry crust got a scoop of thick gravy in the middle (his ladle was the perfect size) and then the edges were brushed with water, and it was folded in half and the edges rolled up, the top of the half-circle pie was pierced with a fork, and it was placed on the baking sheet to wait for the oven. 

A few of the younger cooks wanted to learn his pie-edge rolling technique and he was happy to show them, though he did have to smack their hands a few times when they started sampling the gravy filling _too_ much. They laughed when he did, but they also listened and backed off. 

...he was just so _comfortable_ cooking in this kitchen, with these Dwarves. It hit him with a small shock of surprise that he'd _never_ cooked in the same kitchen as consistently as he had this one... it was almost home, but then again it _wasn't_ because he always had to leave again. 

“What are you making now?” they asked, when all the gravy pies were shaped and Bombur pressed the pie crust trimmings together and began rolling them out into a big rectangle. 

“Spiral cookies.” he answered. He trimmed the edges and cut the rectangle down the middle so he had two long thin rectangles, which he brushed with a little melted butter and sprinkled with a tiny bit of sugar and some cinnamon, then rolled both long edges into the center. He cut the long roll into thin slices and lay them cut-side up on baking trays – pretty little cookies that baked up sweet and crunchy – they looked gorgeous piled up on the end of the counter. 

The pies had to come out of the oven just before they were to be eaten, for them to be at their very best – and they really _had_ to be at their very best. He'd not even gotten to really _talk_ to Mirra yesterday, he'd fallen exhausted into bed as soon as he'd gotten himself and his clothes clean without even waiting for Bofur and Bifur to come home. 

His timing was perfect, a fresh tray of pies coming out of the oven just as Mirra came through the line. 

“What are these? They smell _so good_.” Mirra asked, serving herself a pie while he did the same from the opposite side of the line. 

“Gravy pies.” he said, and took two servings of spiral cookies to go sit and eat with her. 

“So...” she said, eating one of her cookies before she even started on the rest of her food, “A whole cow? How did that happen?” 

“Jarn tried a new supplier. They messed up the order.” Bombur answered, and Mirra laughed, bumping her shoulder against his as she hooked their boots together. It was as natural and comfortable as it had been before he left, and he loved how it was never awkward around Mirra. 

“They're _lucky_ they had you.” Mirra said. 

“They would have thought of something.” Bombur said, not wanting to take too much credit. He wasn't the _only_ cook in the kitchen. 

“Not something as good as _this_.” Mirra said, brandishing her bitten gravy pie, and there were full-mouthed cheers of agreement from her friends, a few of those nearby reaching over to smack him on the back.

“...just gravy pie...” Bombur couldn't help blushing at the attention, taking a big bite of pie so he didn't have to talk. Mirra easily changed the subject, and the conversation flowed around him... he had to admit that it was a _good_ gravy pie – better than using the dregs of ale barrels and shanks and necks of indeterminate age and origin to make them. 

Mirra gave him a kiss, just a quick peck, before he had to get back to work, whispering, “I'll see you after work.” and he floated through the rest of his day. Jarn even congratulated him on how well the gravy pies had gone over – teasing that ze was going to order Bombur a cow _every_ time he came through. 

The best part of the day, though, was when work was over and Bombur _finally_ got to sit with Mirra on the roof watching the reflected light of sunset fade, and kiss her, and talk about everything that had gone on for both of them in the time they had been apart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are few things more frustrating working in a kitchen than having the order messed up and having to figure out how to fudge it with what you've got.  
> I remember once I was working in a pretty nice restaurant, we were having a big event, and the supplier delivered salmon filets _with_ scales, rather than without. I was low on the pecking order, so I got to spend five hours scaling fish. I was so covered in scales by the end of it I could have been a merperson. a very smelly merperson.
> 
> Also I almost forgot, the pie crust cookies Bombur made are very similar to the following:  
> http://the-white-bench.blogspot.com/2011/12/cinnamon-palm-cookies.html


	19. Soup in a Bread Bowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everybody gets along.

Sidgra and Vegdra were thrilled to have gotten back from hunting Goblins in time to see Bombur. He wasn't sure who had first made the suggestion that both families have dinner together before Bombur left, but everyone had been very excited about it.

They were gathering at Mirra's house because it was nicer than the little place Bombur's family had rented. They decided to have the dinner on their last shared day off before Bombur had to leave again.

Bombur made bread, thick crusty round loaves, and helped Mirra make a fish soup with dried white fish and dried tomatoes and onions and garlic and potatoes.

It didn't need a lot of attention, once the bread was rising and the soup was just barely simmering. Mirra and Bombur sat back and relaxed, Mirra leaning back against him with his arms around her, and they talked – a big commission for horseshoes had come in, and Mirra was just about sick of shaping horseshoes. Bombur quietly told a few stories of things that had happened at work, and Mirra laughed. Vegdra and Sidgra came in and pretended to be scandalized by seeing the two together, only stopping when Mirra threatened to throw things at them, then Bombur had to threaten them with his ladle when they started trying to sample the soup – it wasn't ready, it hadn't even been _seasoned_ yet.

Time seemed wonderfully slow, sitting with Mirra while the bread baked, and the boys wandered away to repair and recondition their armor which had taken a little damage in their latest skirmishes. He wouldn't have minded if time stopped altogether, but it didn't.

Bifur and Bofur showed up right on time, and Bombur hollowed out the bread and seasoned the soup while everyone talked. Bofur got Sidgra and Vegdra to tell the story of their latest job – clearing out some Goblins who were getting too close to Dwarven roads and settlements, and was telling jokes and had everyone laughing. Bifur had brought some toy pieces with him too keep his hands occupied, and for a little while the conversation was around toys and toymaking.

Bombur ladled the soup into the hollowed breads and served them, fragrant and delicious. His boot was hooked around Mirra's and she smiled at him with her eyes every time they bumped shoulders. Bofur seemed to have taken it upon himself to try to get Vegdra and Sidgra to snort soup out their noses, telling jokes every time they tried to take a bite until Bifur finally kicked him under the table and he settled a little.

After dinner, and after Bifur and Bofur helped Sidgra and Vegdra do the dishes, they all lounged together in the living room. Bofur had a smoke, sharing the pipe casually with Mirra's brothers. They sang songs together, Bombur's family singing the songs of Moria their parents had taught them, Mirra's singing those of the Blue Mountains, and together those that all Dwarves know.

They all had to work in the morning, so they did not stay late.

Mirra's brothers of course had to comment when Mirra and Bombur kissed good night, so Bofur obligingly covered their eyes for them, which lead instantly to an impromptu wrestling match. Mirra laughed, those lovely green-blue eyes sparkling, and took the opportunity to kiss him again.

Bofur was in high spirits when they left, practically bouncing as he walked along between Bombur and Bifur.

“I like them.” he said, and Bombur smiled. He'd _hoped_ they would all get along.

Bofur smoothed his droopy mustache and leaned in closer to Bombur, “D'you think I've got a chance with...” he started.

“No.” Bombur said, firmly. The _last_ thing he needed was for Bofur to make things awkward with Sidgra and Vegdra.

“With which one?” Bifur asked.

“Oh, either.” Bofur said lightly, and then with a grin, “...both?”

“No!” Bombur said again.

“Bombur's right.” Bifur said, “They might be family some day. Have your fun somewhere else.”

Bofur laughed, but he agreed, elbowing Bombur, “When are you going to ask Mirra?” he asked.

Bombur could feel a blush climbing his face, “It's only been a few years...” he said.

“You're going to traditional, lengthy courtship and all?” Bofur asked.

Bombur nodded. It would be _years_ still before he had to think about _that_. Not that he didn't _want_ to marry her, and not that he thought that she or her brothers wouldn't _want_ to join their families... but she _deserved_ to have everything done right. 


	20. Crumbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which scones are eaten, routes are planned, and brothers are always obnoxious but sometimes kind of sweet.

Those few weeks Bombur got to spend with Mirra were not nearly _enough_. He wanted to stay, to send Bifur and Bofur home to Lari and Lifur alone – it was terribly tempting. Only the sharp-prodding memory of how they had not done well without him kept him hiking behind them out of the mountain. They hadn't said anything _specific_ to him, it was just small things they would mention – like not being able to find housing in the towns of Men, having to watch their money more carefully, or not always eating well.

A good cook can find work anywhere, even in the towns of Men.

They needed him.

He kept his head down and kept walking, when all he wanted to do was turn back.

 

Mirra shaped horseshoes, curving the red-hot metal around her anvil, over and over again.

It was work.

She loved blacksmith work, she loved her craft, but she began to wonder if working in a large forge like this one was _really_ a good way to get her maker's mark known. So many of the orders they got were for horseshoes and nails and other little things that _anyone_ could make.

It was just... work, not _craft_.

She finished the horseshoe and tossed it into the bucket of water, starting on another before the hissing and bubbling were even over.

It might be time to start thinking about a change.

 

Lifur had insisted in 'teaching' Bombur how to make scones, which meant that it took a very long time to make them and the little one was covered in flour and bits of dough by the time they were done.

Bombur cleaned Lifur up as well as he could and they brought the scones out to the rest of the family. Lari was leaning against Bifur, the two of them working on toys while Bofur across the table had a smoke and cheerfully argued their route with Bifur.

Lifur climbed into Bifur's lap, put a scone in his mouth, and informed him that the axe-weilding dwarf he was making needed fangs, and maybe also claws.

Bombur sat down, passing the scones, and listened to where they would be heading _this_ trip.

It... it didn't _sound_ like they were planning on seeing Mirra.

Bombur's mouth went dry, his mouthful of scone crumbs suddenly impossible to swallow. They knew he needed to see her, didn't they? He'd thought they _understood_ , now. He didn't _want_ to have to fight with them anymore!

He listened in abject misery as they plotted a brief swing around the south of the Blue Mountains. They were hitting fewer towns and settlements than they usually did, but that made sense after the more thorough tour they'd done last time, with Bombur with them. They seemed to be avoiding towns of Men, which was unusual but he was too miserable to care.

He didn't _want_ to abandon them again but he _would_. Some things were worth fighting for, and Mirra was one of them.

“Then, we'll pick Bombur back up and head home.” Bofur grinned, “Three months all alone to woo your pretty smith – that long enough for you?” He asked, with a wink.

Bombur's relief was immediate. They _did_ understand, and they'd made sure they would be ok while he wasn't with them. They didn't need him as much in Dwarven settlements as they did among Men.

He nodded hard.

“I expect _results_!” Bofur said decisively, though his eyes were laughing, “Be _bold!_ Get what you want! None of this...” he waved his hands dismissively, “proper _courting_.”

“Not everyone is like _you_.” Lari said, reaching across the table to poke Bofur with her cane, making him laugh, “I think it's _sweet._ There are things to be said for a proper courtship...” she glanced over at Bifur, who smiled and kissed her.

Lifur took the opportunity to steal the almost-complete bird Lari had been working on and ran around the room making it flap, squealing in glee as Uncle Bofur gave chase to steal it back.

 

Mirra stepped into the house to be wrapped in Sidgra and Vegdra's laughter and a smell of food that...

_Bombur?_

“Look who we found for you!” Sidgra crowed, gesturing grandly as Mirra stepped around the corner into the kitchen to see Bombur, blushing as he nervously shifted his feet, looking half-afraid that she wouldn't be thrilled to see him in her house.

It would be cruel to leave him in doubt. She tackled him to squeeze him tight and kiss all his worries away. She _felt_ the tension leave him as he held her tight and kissed her gentle.

“I _told_ you this would happen if you brought him home.” Vegdra commented dryly, stirring something on the stove with Bombur's ladle.

“ _Obviously_ ,” Sidgra snorted, “they never _stop_. It's indecent.”

“Hush, you two.” Mirra said, but she was too happy to make her voice even a little sharp. “You're early.” She accused Bombur with a smile, tweaking his beard loop to make him blush harder.

“I have three months.” he said.

“That's _wonderful!”_ She took his hand, leading him out of the kitchen so they could catch up without her brothers bothering them.

“You can't take him away!” Vegdra protested from the stove.

“...the food?” Sidgra added, almost pitiful.

“I'm sure you can manage.” Mirra said firmly, and took her Bombur up to the roof to cuddle and talk.


	21. Strawberries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans and high-stress social situations

 

Three months. 

Three months of watching Bombur brighten when he caught sight of her coming through the dinner line, leaning in close to her side as they ate together food that always tasted better _with_ him than without him. Three months of having him over almost every day. Three months of holding and being held by him. Three months of kisses and laughter and being affectionately teased by her lunkhead brothers. 

Three months. 

Three months was not _enough_ , not when she wanted a lifetime. 

Mirra lay awake at night and mulled over different plans. 

 

Jarn and Bombur were the last in the kitchen, Jarn because ze was always the last to leave the kitchen, and Bombur because he wanted to make sure everything was in order on the last night before he left again. 

Bombur stopped puttering pointlessly through the silverware and leaned his hands heavily on the countertop, sighing. 

“...I don't want to go.” he said, very quietly but not so quietly that Jarn didn't hear. 

“So stay.” Jarn said, just as quietly, handing him half a leftover apple turnover. Bombur smiled at the pastry as he accepted it, but he shook his head at Jarn's words.

“My family needs me.” he said heavily, as though the words hurt. 

Jarn began to blow lamps out, and Bombur followed, blowing out the lamps on the opposite wall as they made their way out of the kitchen. 

“At some point...” Jarn said, “you have to make your _own_ family.” 

Bombur nodded, shoulders hunching up a little, uncomfortable, “...someday...” he said. 

Jarn smiled and clapped Bombur on the shoulder as they went their own ways, “Don't take too long.” ze said, and let him take that as he would. 

 

Sidgra and Vegdra had accompanied Bombur out of the mountain, spending a day and night with Bombur's friendly family before making their way back home. 

It was late when they got home, Mirra had already gone to bed but she'd left some bread and roast meat out for them. Vegdra began to make sandwiches while Sidgra made to clear a space at the table – Mirra had half-drafted plans all across the table. 

“Vegdra...” Sidgra grabbed a lamp and brought it closer to inspect what he'd thought he'd seen, grinning hard when he saw that he'd been right. “Vegdra, _look!”_

Vegdra handed Sidgra his sandwich and slung his arm around his brother's shoulders to look at Mirra's drafted plans. He whistled softly before grinning back. 

“ _Finally_.” He said. 

“It's going to be _great_.” Sidgra said, moving the plans to see what else Mirra was planning as he took a big bite of his sandwich. 

Sidgra suddenly swallowed hard, looking up at Vegdra with scared eyes, “I mean, we _will_ be, right?.. we're _not_ going to..” 

Vegdra laughed, thunking his forehead against his brother's, “Of _course_ we will... now to bed before you get any more lunk-headed ideas.” 

“ _You're_ the lunk-head!” Sidgra contended, and they laughed as they wrestled their way into their room. 

 

Bombur didn't say much of anything, more so than normal. Bifur and Bofur noticed and they _tried_ to cheer him up. He did his best but he was not _happy_. 

He didn't know how long he could keep living just a few short weeks or months at a time, but even if he did somehow cut his courtship short he didn't think anything would _change_. Even if he married Mirra his family still needed him and he couldn't abandon them. 

...and maybe Jarn was right that he had to make his own family, but Bifur and Bofur had always been there for him. They had always taken care of him. 

He _couldn't_ abandon them. 

He trudged on, up the Blue Mountains with his family, and back down again with his family – working in kitchen after kitchen, which he didn't mind, but he wished he could stick to just _one_ kitchen, and didn't have to ask, and ask, and _ask_ for work. 

 

Bombur held the little basket in his hands, fidgeting nervously a little before he noticed and steeled himself, walking up to Mirra's door and knocking firmly. 

Vegdra opened the door, grinning hugely and smacking foreheads with him as he called back to Mirra, who shoved her brother out of the way to tackle Bombur. He buried his face in her red-gold braids and held her tight, everything _right_ in the world again. 

“What's this?” Vegdra asked, reaching for the basket, and Bombur had to swat his hands away. 

“That's for Mirra.” he said. He'd carried it down into the mountain on the top of his pack all day – he would _not_ have it stolen by her brothers now, after protecting it from Bofur for so long!. 

“What is it?” she asked, blue-green eyes smiling at him as she kissed him. 

In answer he handed the basket to her. 

“...fresh strawberries...” she breathed, “Oh, Bombur...” She grabbed his hand and towed him up and around the house to sit on the edge of the roof with her, tucking herself firmly under his arm. 

The delicate little berries were bright-red and perfect – it was luck they'd been coming through at _just_ the right time to buy them before coming into the mountain. They were hard enough to come by above ground, but under the mountain they were worth more than gold. 

Mirra ate one, eyes rolling back with a little 'mmm' as she savored it. 

“Oh, Bombur...” she sighed, nuzzling into his side, “Marry me?” 

Bombur tried to remember how breathing worked as his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

She... she didn't _mean_ it that way because... it was just a saying? Like Jarn saying 'I could kiss you' when Bombur did something helpful, ze didn't really mean ze wanted to kiss Bombur... it was probably like that, Mirra just really liked the strawberries, and he didn't _know_ what he was supposed to answer because he would very _very_ much like to say yes, who wouldn't want to say yes to the _very best_ Darrowdam in the world?.. but that might be the _wrong_ answer if she wasn't really serious, if she was joking and he was supposed to laugh... but what if it _wasn't_ a joke and he was supposed to say yes? 

Bombur looked away, out across the darkening settlement as if there might be something or someone out there who could tell him what he was supposed to _do_. 

“Bombur?” Mirra sounded worried, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek and turn his face toward her, “Bombur look at me. Breathe.” 

His arm had clenched around her tight, too tight, and he let her go as he took a few deep breaths, breaking the cycle of tiny panicked half-breaths he'd been taking – and that was _worse_ than saying yes if she was joking or laughing if she was serious – he'd done the _most_ wrong answer, somehow, and he wished more than anything that the mountain rock would just swallow him up. 

Her beautiful blue-green eyes were sad as she looked at him, trying to smile and not quite making it. 

“You don't _have_ to say yes...” she said gently. 

“...but I want to!” Bombur floundered, “If _you_ want to... if you really _mean_...” 

Mirra laughed slightly, “I wouldn't _joke_ , not about that.” she stroked his cheek gently before taking both his hands in hers, meeting his eyes, “Bombur, _âzyungâl,_ will you marry me?” She asked, her face completely serious and sincere and... 

“Yes!” Bombur nodded as hard as he could, “Yes, I...” and he wasn't sure what he was going to say but it didn't matter because Mirra had squeaked the happiest and most adorable squeak in the whole world and was kissing him, knocking him over and lying across him to kiss him as she laughed and he held her tight and hoped he _never_ woke up if this was a dream. 

Vegdra was shouting “He said yes!” downstairs and Sidgra was cheering and both Mirra's brothers were running up to the roof shouting “Brother!” – and they had to disentangle themselves to protect the strawberries from being stolen away in celebration. 

 

Mirra and Bombur cuddled together on the roof, her brothers banished away downstairs. He fed her the last strawberry and followed it with a kiss, tasting it on her lips. 

“...how is this going to _work?”_ he asked, reality beginning to settle back into his mind. “We only have a few weeks here and I'll have to go again...” 

Mirra smiled that perfect gap-toothed smile, “Let me show you my plans.” She said, bouncing up and pulling him along back into the house, “You're going to _love_ it!” 

 

Bifur and Bofur were fetched and a small celebration was thrown in Mirra's living room, and once everyone had congratulated everyone Mirra revealed her plan to Bifur and Bofur. 

“This.” she said, “Is a traveling forge. It fits into a small wagon, and with it I can travel _anywhere_ a pony and cart can go. I can work anywhere – everywhere needs a smith to do repair work, if nothing else – Sidgra and Vegdra can do that too, the simple stuff.” 

Her brothers nodded firmly, “You're not taking our sister _anywhere_ without us.” Vegdra said, but he was smiling. 

Mirra rolled out a map of the Blue Mountains and beyond, past the Misty Mountains. 

“All together, we're six strong fighting Dwarves, more than enough for most enemies – we can go a _lot_ further than you're used to.” She traced paths with her fingers throughout all the towns and settlements between the Blue and the Misty Mountains. 

“We can go _anywhere_.” she grinned, “Spread my maker's mark, find new markets for your toys...” 

Bofur was stroking his mustache, an excited smile beginning to spread across his face as the idea of traveling to new places began to sink in. 

Bifur nodded thoughtfully, “I like how you think.” he said, eyes sparkling as he placed his hand over his heart and bowed slightly, “Cousin.” he acknowledged, the eldest of Bombur's family accepting her courtship of him. 

Bombur held his Mirra close, hiding his face in her braids, and he could not be more happy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are interested in oogling a map of Middle Earth, this is the one I tend to look at when I want to reference things. 
> 
> http://blog.lefigaro.fr/hightech/assets_c/2011/06/middle-earth-map-33096.html
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO: I'm taking a short break from this story before I return with Part 2.


	22. turnip-rabbit stew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of Part 2. There will probably be a good deal of time skipping.

Bombur was the bravest Dwarf Mirra had ever met.

He was terrified of talking to people, he didn't even much talk with his own family... but every town they stayed at he faced his fear and won.

He walked up to perfect strangers, who might not even _like_ Dwarves, and asked them if they had work for a good cook.

He _always_ found work, no matter how many people he had to ask.

Towns might have their own smiths who didn't want Dwarf competition, toys might sell well or poorly, but Bombur's earnings were a sure bet wherever they went.

Bombur was dependable – and she loved him fiercely for it.

Their families had blended together surprisingly well.

Mirra finished checking over the sturdy pony that pulled her forge wagon, leaning comfortably against it as she let her eyes drift over their family.

Sidgra and Vegdra were redoing each other's braids, sitting cross-legged facing one another as they worked, teasing as they went – if they didn't calm it down they'd end up wrestling again exactly the way they'd ruined their braids in the _first_ place. They had relaxed after the first time the group ran across goblins and Bombur's family, Bifur especially, proved themselves good fighters.

Bofur and Bombur were arguing about the seasoning of the dinner stew – more accurately, Bofur was arguing and Bombur was ignoring him and doing exactly as he pleased. It was going to be delicious – Bombur was dependable there too. It didn't matter what quality of supplies they could get ahold of, Bombur would always make _good_ food out of them.

Bifur was sitting close to the fire for the light, working on the delicate mechanisms of yet another toy – he always had a few new designs when they went back to see Lari, and Mirra had started to understand that the toys were like love letters to her, proof that Bifur had been thinking of her while he was away.

Mirra had _tried_ to convince Lari to bring little Lifur and come with them, but the older Darrowdam had patted her bad leg fondly as she explained that her wandering days were over. They could have afforded another pony and wagon for them, but Lari said that she was much happier at home with her workshop.

Mirra could understand that a little, she sometimes missed the camaraderie of her old forge, but being with Bombur more than made up for it.

She was enjoying the surface, too. She was luckily not one of those Dwarves who suffered vertigo under the empty sky – except sometimes on exceptionally clear nights under the stars, but she always had Bombur to anchor her, holding her tight until the sky stopped falling away.

It was a _little_ strange to be called 'little sir' or 'master smith' when they were in the villages of Men, but it was for the best. It was no business of Men that she was a Darrowdam. She did enjoy setting up her forge in new towns, setting out her best work – heavy-bottomed pots and fine swords, cloak pins and cooking knives and chain armor, she made a little of everything – letting Sidgra and Vegdra take care of simple repairs while she worked on whatever custom pieces she could get interest in. Her maker's mark was spreading far and wide now – when she chose to go back under the mountains there should be much more interest in her designs and work.

It was good to be out here, to be traveling, to be with these Dwarves who were her family.

It was a good life.

Vegdra and Sidgra smoothed one another's matching braids, nodding in satisfaction with how they'd turned out.

Bombur tasted the stew, handing the ladle she'd made him to Bofur, who tasted it and nodded before handing it back. Bombur began filling bowls.

Bifur carefully put his toy away, accepting his bowl, and Mirra wandered over to take her bowl too, giving her Bombur a kiss to the cheek as she accepted it.

It was a simple stew, turnips and wild rabbit, but Bombur had made it absolutely delicious. Mirra cuddled up to his warm solid side as they ate, quiet and comfortable beside the fire.

When they were all done eating Bombur brought out the sack of apples they'd harvested from a feral tree earlier, slicing them into a large skillet with a deadly-sharp paring knife Mirra had made for him.

“Oooh I _told_ you that's what he was going to make!” Bofur crowed, kicking Bifur, who just rolled his eyes.

“What is it?” Sidgra asked Bofur, who sucked up a mouthful of pipesmoke, eyes laughing as he contemplated ways to tease him with the knowledge he didn't have.

Vegdra had learned faster, he turned to Bombur. “What are you making?” he asked.

“...just cobbler.” Bombur answered.

“ _just_ cobbler...” Bofur scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is Bombur's _famous_ campfire cobbler. It could bring kings to their knees begging for a _single bite_.”

Vegdra and Sidgra gazed adoringly at Bombur, who threw an apple core at Bofur's head, blushing.

Mirra kissed Bombur's cheek while Bofur complained loudly about being abused for telling the _truth._

It was a good life, with a good family, and she was happy.


	23. the best news

 

Mirra had taken to smiling thoughtfully to herself the way she did when she had a plan for a new piece in her head – but she wasn't getting out her sketching tools, wasn't drawing up any plans. 

Bombur didn't worry about it. 

Mirra was _smiling_ , and when the very best Darrowdam in the world looks at you with the warmth of the summer sun in her eyes and smiles that perfect gap-toothed smile there _can't_ be anything wrong in the world. 

Mirra was radiant, more breathtaking than ever even under her concealing travel clothes and the grime of the road, and he wouldn't be a Dwarf if he didn't want to hide her away – protecting her from anything and everything and keeping her all for himself. She wouldn't put up with that for a moment, of course, but he couldn't help _wanting_ to. 

It was a few weeks later, cuddling up together in their shared bedroll for the night – just far enough away from the rest of the family for a little privacy – that she put his hand on her lower belly and whispered in his ear the very best news he'd ever heard. 

Bombur couldn't stop smiling as he made breakfast the next morning. He almost burnt the porridge because he was watching his wonderful Mirra taking care of the pony instead of watching the food. 

Bifur passed the bowls to everyone and Bombur sat with Mirra to eat. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he nodded, giving permission. 

“Everyone!” Mirra had waited until everyone's mouth was full so they couldn't interrupt, her cheeks were pink under her freckles, and she'd never looked happier, “Bombur and I... are having a _baby_.” 

Bombur wrapped his arm around Mirra to place his splayed hand protectively over her belly, blushing as the family stared. 

Sidgra nearly choked on his mouthful of porridge, coughing as he tried to breathe without even a helping smack to the back from Vegdra, who was staring at Mirra with his mouth hanging open – golden brown eyes wide and slightly teary. 

“...a baby...” he whispered. 

Bofur dumped half of his porridge as he tossed his bowl aside to jump up and pound them both on the back, babbling his congratulations as he hugged them. 

Bifur leaned back and grinned proudly, as if he'd had anything to do with it. 

Sidgra had managed not to die by porridge and was holding Vegdra's coat in a white-knuckled grip, shaking his brother for emphasis. 

“Vegdra, _Vegdra..._ _sister-sons_ or... or...” Sidgra's eyes grew wide at the possibilities, “ _we're going to be the best Uncle ever!”_ he crowed. 

“We have to get you under the mountains!” Vegdra's expression had turned panicked, “You can't have a baby out here in the...” he waved his arms to indicate the entire surface, “It's not safe!” 

Mirra laughed, eying Bombur, who'd had the same reaction the night before. “I'm not going to have the baby _right now_.” she soothed, “We've got a _long_ time still – but I would like to be back home by the time I hit six months, halfway...” 

Bifur was nodding in agreement, “Cutting this trip short won't be a problem.” he said, “We want plenty of time to set up for the baby...” he looked like he might get teary-eyed as he smiled. 

Bofur returned to what was left of his porridge, wolfing it down, “I'll carve the _best_ nursery out of the mountain for you.” he grinned. “You'll need a bigger house for a bigger family.” 

Vegdra and Sidgra came around the fire to hug Mirra, and Bombur obligingly moved aside for them, finishing his breakfast as they whispered to her and she smiled and nodded... and then rolled her eyes and smacked them both on the back of the head because they could never be sweet and supportive without also offering to beat people up for her. 

“Lunkheads.” She said affectionately, knocking foreheads with them. 

Bombur scraped his bowl clean, steeling himself for what he was going to have to do. When he finally looked up at Bifur, his cousin was already watching him expectantly. 

“I'm stayingunder the mountains _..._ with her.” He said. 

Bifur's smile was only a little sad, “I expected you would.” he answered gently. 

 

Mirra's house was just as they'd left it, closed up tight under the mountain. They opened it up and aired it out and Bofur tracked down the settlement planner to begin arguing what the rock could and couldn't support as far as new rooms while Bombur went to find Jarn. 

“Bombur!” Jarn greeted, the steel-haired little Dwarf bustling over as soon as ze noticed Bombur, “It's been too long... please tell me you can stay a while?” 

Bombur nodded, and he couldn't help the big smile that probably looked silly on his face, “I'm staying... we're having a _baby_.” 

“Oh!” Jarn gasped, clutching hir hands to hir chest and practically _vibrating_ with delight. “Oh Bombur! And Mirra! A _baby_...” 

“Oh, come here and hug me!” Jarn demanded, and Bombur was happy to oblige. “I'm just so _happy_ for you!” Jarn said, pushing away and dabbing at the corners of hir eyes with a sleeve. “Don't worry about dinner tonight, I'll bring something over for all of you after the kitchen closes – and can you start tomorrow? And of course you'll need time off when the baby comes... how much longer?” 

“Six months.” Bombur said, and Jarn sighed happily. 

“Halfway already.” ze smiled wistfully, “It's been _too long_ since there was a baby under the mountain.” 

Bombur accepted the rest of hir compliments, blushing he was sure, and left to go help at home – blushing again as he heard the other cooks cheering behind him when Jarn made the announcement. 

At home Mirra was relaxing while everyone bustled around her, round and radiant and _wonderful_. He kissed her, and let her direct him to what needed to be done. Bofur was bouncing through the house with Sidgra and Vegdra, and apparently now he was going to be carving a new room for them so their old room could be the nursery – all they would have to do would be re-open the old doorway between the rooms, a relic of when Mirra's room was their mother's room and Vegdra and Sidgra's room the nursery. 

Everyone was glad to sit down and relax when Jarn came by with dinner. Bombur looked over his family as Jarn talked with Mirra about different midwives and what ze'd heard about them. Sidgra and Vegdra were wedged tight around Bofur as they all three planned the new room Bofur was going to carve, drawing wildly on a piece of paper. Bifur was working on a simple toy – the kind that could safely be given to a baby and double as a teething-toy without taking damage. He glanced toward Mirra and smiled slightly as he worked. 

And Mirra... Mirra glowed, one hand resting fondly against her rounding belly, now much more visible without her concealing travel clothes. 

She looked as happy as he felt. 

 

Sometimes Bombur would catch himself dreading leaving, thinking of the endless string of people he'd have to ask for work – it was always a shock when he remembered that he _wasn't_ going to have to do that anymore. 

He cooked in a good kitchen with Dwarves he liked working with, and of course he did everything he could to make the food perfect, and he ate with Mirra when she came in, and he came home to her at the end of the day, and he _wasn't_ going to have to leave again. 

Mirra only worked a few hours a day at the forge, now. She got tired more quickly, with her belly so big, and she would wake him up at odd hours craving the strangest foods. 

He did his best, but sometimes they just didn't _have_ what she wanted and it broke his heart when she cried because he couldn't give her what she wanted. 

Bifur and Bofur had gone, returning to Lari and Lifur, but Sidgra and Vegdra were still around and trying to be very helpful – the entire _mountain_ it seemed wanted to be helpful. They had everything they needed, and now it was just _waiting_ , and not for much longer. 

Mirra came sailing ponderously through the line, magnificent in her roundness, and Bombur grabbed a plate to join her. 

“Not long now.” Everyone was saying, “Not long now.” as they eyed the way Mirra was carrying. 

Bombur would be glad when it was over, and Mirra could get a full night's sleep and eat more than a few bitefuls at a time. 

“Not long now.” the midwife said, running her hands over Mirra's belly with a smile, “Not long.”

 

Bifur and Bofur had made it back in time for the baby's birth by just a few days. They brought presents for Mirra from Lari and for the baby from Lifur – a toy that, in typical Lifur style, was very brightly colored and ferocious. 

The midwife said that Mirra was young and strong, that it was an easy birth that went well, but Bombur was drained and shaking by the end of it. 

Finally, _finally_ , they held their baby in their arms, tiny and slippery and red and Mahal-blessed _perfect,_ and Bombur held onto his brave tired Mirra and their baby and cried. 

Outside the sanctuary of their house there was a feast and a party and a whole settlement full of Dwarves who wanted to guard and protect and help and teach the new baby. Muffled cheering made its way through the heavy stone walls when the midwife announced that mother and child were both healthy. 

Inside there was just Bombur and Mirra and the baby, and that was enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Babies are a huge deal among Dwarves. 
> 
> Also – If anyone has any ideas for names for the baby I am more than happy to hear them. I am leaning slightly toward giving the baby a -ra name, because Mirra is the eldest of her family and Bombur isn't the eldest of his, if that makes any sense. 
> 
> Also, Also – Sorry there wasn't any smut, if anyone was looking forward to that. I think this story wants to stay gen from start to finish. Just know that the sexing was the cutest, snuggliest, cuddliest thing ever.


	24. Pumpkin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short but sweet chapter today.

Jarn had gotten a shipment of thick-fleshed pumpkins for the kitchen. The most solid unblemished ones would easily keep, stacked in the cool back of the pantry for a few months – the rest had to be used quickly or preserved. Bombur hollowed out a few of the sweeter-looking pumpkins and set them in the oven to bake. While they cooked he helped peel and slice more pumpkins thinly, stringing them onto racks so they could be left to dry in the cooling stone ovens overnight, drying up crisp, preserved for as long as they were kept dry and always ready to be thrown into soups and stews. 

As he worked, he put up with the other cooks occasionally peeking into the sling across his back, cooing at little Forra. It was too loud and dangerous in the forge for the baby, so on days that Mirra worked Bombur had the baby. 

Forra was a good baby, red-haired and plump and happy, quietly watching and burbling when not sleeping. Bombur wouldn't have had to carry the baby for even a _moment_ during the day if he didn't want to, _everyone_ wanted a turn holding Forra, but Bombur preferred to be the one holding the baby most of the time. 

When the pumpkins in the oven were roasted soft and fragrant, he left the pumpkin slicing to the younger cooks and carefully scooped the flesh out of the roasted pumpkins, running it through a sieve to make smooth puree. 

Part of it was seasoned with browned butter and sage and pepper to be served with dinner – some of it was placed in the pantry to chill and wait for the next day, where it would be simmered with tender smoked beef and lots of garlic for a hearty stew. 

Bombur's favorite part, though, was the little bit that was for dessert. He beat butter and sugar and eggs into the pumpkin, stirring in flour and cinnamon and allspice, chopped toasted almonds, and raisins. 

Forra woke up from a nap as Bombur began scooping the dough onto baking sheets, forming big sweet biscuits that would bake up golden and tender and _delicious_. He bounced the baby as Forra began to cry, ready for an afternoon snack. 

“Let me get these in the oven.” Bombur soothed, “Just a little longer my little one...” 

“May I?” Jarn asked, and Bombur nodded gratefully as ze plucked little Forra from the sling. 

“Let's find you something to _eat_.” Jarn said, tickling the baby's round tummy, and Forra giggled as Jarn swept them away. The little one had already learned that Jarn was almost as good a source of food as Bombur and Mirra. 

Bombur finished shaping the biscuits and popped them into the oven, and went to find Forra and Jarn. 

“and the coal scoop gooooes... _into_ the furnace! Oh, good job!” Jarn was in hir office with Forra perched on hir knee, spoon-feeding the baby some of Bombur's roasted pumpkin puree mixed with jellied bone broth, a good solid snack to hold Forra over until Mirra was done with work. 

“one more... here comes the mine cart! Ca-clonk, ca-clonk, ca-clonk – into the tunnel! Mmm, that's good, huh? Your Adad is a good cook!” 

Forra spotted Bombur and reached for him, smiling a pumpkin-mouthed smile. Jarn passed the baby over, and Bombur tucked the little one back into the sling. 

“Thank you Bombur.” Jarn said quietly, wiping Forra's face clean, a wistful look in the solid little Dwarf's eyes, “I always... I always thought I'd like to have one or two of my own, you know? But it doesn't look like I'll be finding the right Dwarf for me...” 

“You still have time.” Bombur said, and Jarn gave a small smile, touching hir steel hair – not turning the corner to silver yet. 

“You're right, of course.” ze said, “But still... _thank you_.” 

Bombur nodded. “...I appreciate your help... and Forra likes you. You could be honorary family?” 

Jarn blushed, giving Forra one last tickle to the chin, “Oh, go on.” ze said, “I think I can smell your biscuits, don't burn them!” 

and Bombur went. 

Mirra was happy to see them both when she was done for the day, taking Forra and the sling as she came through the dinner line, giving the baby a smooch while Bombur carried their food to a table. 

They hooked their boots together, sitting shoulder to shoulder as they ate their food, Forra burbling happily in the sling on Mirra's back and friends all around them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm thinking Jarn either doesn't want to raise a family alone, or is unable to bear for biological reasons, or else ze could find a sperm donor and have a family alone.
> 
> That's what Mirra and Sidgra and Vegdra's mother did, I think. I'm pretty sure Sidgra and Vegdra have the same sperm donor, but Mirra might have a different one. They are dirty-blond with golden-brown eyes, and she's red-gold haired and blue-green eyed... but then again some of my biological siblings look less like me than some of my adopted siblings do so *shrug*. 
> 
> Anyway, I think I'd like Dwarves to not have anything against single-parenting. If you don't happen to find your One, and you want kids, and you can have them – go for it! More babies is always better! The community will gather around to help out, so the single parent will have as much support as they need. 
> 
> Also, there need to be gender-neutral words that mean aunt/uncle and niece/nephew, godsdamnit.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mostly just time passing

Bifur and Bofur looked tired when they visited these days, and maybe they _were_ just getting older but Bombur couldn't help but feel he'd let them down when he stopped taking care of them. 

He had other people to take care of now, Forra and Mirra, and Sidgra and Vegdra a bit too, and even Jarn and the other cooks he worked with, and the smiths Mirra worked with and he fed a little bit. 

They hadn't ever asked Bombur to leave and come with them, and he was _so_ grateful for that, but... he couldn't help but notice that they were thinner, that Bofur was getting sad tired lines around his eyes. - though sad-puppy eyes only seemed to _help_ Bofur charm whoever he liked. 

They never said it, but it was clear that traveling and selling toys was harder for Bifur and Bofur without Bombur helping. 

Vegdra and Sidgra tried to time their goblin- and warg-hunting trips to be able to travel with Bofur and Bifur whenever they could, and Bombur fed them up as well as he could when they visited, but still – he felt like he should be doing _more_ , somehow. 

He just didn't know _how_ without leaving Mirra and Forra, and _that_ wasn't going to happen. 

 

Forra was three, running uncles Sidgra and Vegdra ragged, pudgy little red-haired terror who's favorite word was 'No!', when Mirra brought the subject up. 

“Forra should have siblings.” she mused, cuddling into his side in their bed, “I don't know _what_ I would have done without Vegdra and Sidgra, now _or_ growing up.” 

Bombur thought that over a little. Forra was young, but he couldn't imagine the little one wouldn't be a _wonderful_ sibling... and what would Bofur have done without Bombur? Or Bombur without Bofur?.. and he thought of having another tiny beautiful perfect little Dwarf to take care of, who would, yes, cry and fuss and need a lot of care – but then smile and laugh until his heart melted... 

“How many do you think we should have?” He asked. 

“As many as we can take care of.” Mirra said, “...but at least _three_... three was a good number.” 

“mmm...” Bombur agreed, nodding. With Bifur they'd been three, and three _had_ been a good number. 

“I was just thinking... it took us _two years_ for Forra... we should maybe start trying for another soon?” Mirra mused. 

“...right now?” Bombur suggested. 

Mirra laughed, tweaking his beard loop and rubbing noses with him, smiling down at him so sweet and beautiful he almost couldn't breathe. 

 

Forra was six, solid and _very serious_ , when little Sorra was born. 

Sidgra and Vegdra brought Forra in while the midwife made the happy announcement and the crowd outside erupted into thrilled cheering. 

Forra was nervous, biting a lip, unsure. 

Mirra smiled, tired and floating in a happy haze with Bombur's arms around her and perfect tiny Sorra in her arms. 

“Come here little one.” she soothed, reaching out for Forra, “Come meet the new baby.” 

Forra climbed up onto the bed and lay beside Mirra, head on Mirra's shoulder, to gaze at the new baby. Mirra kissed her firstborn's forehead. 

“This is Sorra.” she introduced, “You're an older sibling now, the two of you will be together always... but Sorra is still a baby. You'll need to help me take care of Sorra. Can you do that for your Amad?” 

Forra nodded, sucking on a thumb and unable to look away from the tiny red baby in Mirra's arms. 

Bombur reached over to rub Forra's back, his round face beautiful as he beamed with pride in his family. Mirra lifted her chin and he obligingly kissed her. 

Vegdra and Sidgra set themselves shyly on the edge of the bed, and Mirra smiled at them, at her family – her whole family right here in this room. 

She was so happy... and so tired... she let her eyelids drift shut, perfectly content. 

They would take care of her. 

 

Sidgra and Vegdra had volunteered to look after the children while Bombur and Mirra had a day to themselves. There wasn't much to _do_ under the mountain but they did their best. Bombur had packed them some food and a bottle of nice mead and they spent a very nice day together not worrying about anything.

Mirra's brothers would take good care of Forra and Sorra – the house on the other hand... 

“How bad do you think it'll be?” Mirra asked, leaning on Bombur's arm. 

He seemed to think it over for a while before deciding on his answer.

“ _Bad.”_ he said, and Mirra, laughing, had to agree with his assessment... probably all the dishes would be dirty, possibly some of the dishes would be _broken_ – and last time they'd come home to find every blanket and cushion in the house piled into a giant fort. 

The house was... _suspiciously_ silent when they got home. Mirra only had time to share one worried glance with Bombur before they found them. 

Vegdra was sprawled out, taking up most of the living room floor with a hand protectively covering little Sorra, curled up on his chest. Sidgra had his head on Vegdra's shoulder, and Forra was flopped across the two of them as limp as a noodle in a position that could _not_ be comfortable – all of them fast asleep. 

Bombur chuckled lightly, and Mirra shook her head at her fierce warrior brothers asleep with babies on them. They left them to sleep a little longer while they checked the rest of the house. It was less bad than they could have feared, though somehow _every_ dish in the house was dirty. 

Bombur scratched his head, inspecting the dirty dishes. “What were they _making_?” he asked, poking at the strange mess in a pan as though not sure if it was going to come alive. 

“Forra probably wanted to experiment.” Mirra said, “Leave it. They made the mess, _they_ can clean it up.” 

They gently woke the brave warriors up and scooped the sleeping babies off of them, carrying sleepy and protesting Forra and Sorra to bed while Sidgra and Vegdra blearily helped each other to their own room. 

“Don't worry... dishes.” Vegdra informed them, leaning heavily on Sidgra and yawning, “get them in the morning.” 

“Bed.” Sidgra grumbled, and towed his brother away. 

“I think they had the right idea.” Mirra said, tucking the little ones into their bed, and Bombur put an arm around her – leading her off to bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are so many characters without pronouns now! *flings self off cliff, weeping*


	26. The Axe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The axe happens this chapter. 
> 
> also, warning for inconsistent pronouns, explained in the end note.

The letter was a shock, throwing everything into disarray.

Three short lines –

_Bifur badly injured._   
_We need you._   
_Bofur, Lari, Lifur_

Bombur held it in trembling hands.

Bifur

They'd paid for a raven, the fastest way to get a letter to him.

How? How had he been injured? How _badly_ had he been injured?

Bifur had _always been there_ for Bombur and Bofur.

…would he still be _alive_ when Bombur reached the northern Blue Mountains?

Bombur's traveled up and down the range enough times to know the fastest routes, and he could move a lot faster than most people gave him credit for...

“I have to go.” his voice sounded very very far away from him.

If he gathered his things up he could leave tonight and...

Mirra's hands gently eased the letter from his white-knuckled grip and he became aware that she'd been talking to him, asking him what was wrong, if she could see.

“Oh!” she put a hand over her mouth, tears in the corner of her eyes as she passed the letter to Sidgra and Vegdra. They read it over, looking grim.

“We'll need a wagon and a pony, the little ones aren't big enough to walk but too big to be carried.” she said.

“I can get that.” Sidgra said, nodding, and he bolted out the door.

“Four of us _isn't_ enough to keep the littles safe all that way. We can't risk them. I'll get some friends.” Vegdra said, and he also ran out the door.

“You... I...” Bombur's mind wasn't catching up to what was going on at all. Mirra squeezed his hand.

“We're _all_ going.” she said, “We're _all_ family.”

Bombur let go a huge breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as relief flooded him.

Mirra was going to take care of things. He didn't have to go alone.

Mirra smiled up at him, eyes still sad and worried, but determined, “It shouldn't take more than a couple days to pack and leave. Go tell Jarn, ze'll understand.”

Bombur nodded, that _was_ what had to happen next.

“Ama?” Forra was peeking around the corner into the living room, holding little Sorra's hand and looking worried, “Ama, Ada... you're leaving?”

“Oh my little ones...” Mirra sat down and gestured them over, “You're supposed to be in bed!”

“Sorra was thirsty.” Forra said, helping Sorra into Mirra's lap before climbing up after – nine years old and always so serious about the responsibility of caring for Sorra. Sorra grabbed onto one of Mirra's braids tight, eyes worried and sucking vigorously on a thumb.

Bombur went and got a little water for Sorra, hearing Mirra explaining to them in the background that they would _all_ be going – that Uncle Bifur was hurt, so they were going to go help, that they were going to get to meet their Aunt Lari and Cousin Lifur – and didn't they always love the scary toys that Lifur sent?

“Thank you, Bombur.” Mirra smiled, accepting the cup from Bombur. He kissed the little ones on the tops of their red-haired heads, Forra taking after him while Sorra had more gold like Mirra, and kissed Mirra on the lips before going tell Jarn he had to leave – and didn't know when he would be back.

 

At least the spring weather was good for traveling. They'd sent a message raven north letting Bofur and Lari know they were on their way. Vegdra had managed to find a half-dozen warrior friends willing to make a trip north on short notice, and they were good – if loud – company. The empty sky had made Forra nervous for the first few days, but Sorra had taken to the surface without a second thought.

They made good time, sticking to main roads and making no unnecessary stops.

It had been a long time since Bombur had cooked over a campfire, but he fell right back into the habit as if he'd never been gone. Sidgra and Vegdra's warrior friends accused them of holding out, keeping a cook like Bombur a secret. Some of them tried to convince him that what he _really_ wanted to do with his life was be a travel-cook for goblin- and warg-hunting trips – just joking, mostly.

They didn't know what to expect when they reached Lari and Bifur's home.

Bofur was sitting on the front step, hunched over under his flop-eared hat, smoking with a singleminded concentration.

“They're here! They've made it!” he called into the house, relief in his voice. He knocked his pipe out and came over to hug Bombur hard, his eyes lost and miserable.

“Is he...” Bombur asked.

“He's alive.” Bofur said, “but he's not... he's...”

“He's got a head wound.” Lari said, leaning heavily on her cane as she came out to meet them. She looked exhausted, and Mirra hurried over to her. Lari relaxed into Mirra's hug.

“We're here now.” Mirra soothed.

“Uncle Bofur!” Forra called, struggling against Sidgra's arms, and little Sorra was also struggling in Vegdra's – trying to get to their Uncle, who always had silly stories and songs, and sometimes sweets hidden in his pockets, for them.

Bofur's eyes crinkled up in a smile, and after one last hard squeeze of Bombur's shoulder he swooped over to pick the little ones up – tickling their necks with whiskery kisses to make them squeal happily.

“Oh...” Lari sighed, watching them, “can... can I _meet_ the little ones?”

 

“It could be worse.” Lari said, leading Bombur and Mirra and her brothers toward the toymaking workshop while Bofur tended the little ones.

“Mahal carved my Bifur of sturdy stone or he'd not have survived it at all.” she continued, “And he still knows who he is, and he still knows _us_ – some of them don't, you know, with head wounds – the common tongue is gone, though. Just _gone_. He can understand it, and he can _remember_ remembering it, but he can't speak a word of it. He still has kuzdul and iglishmek... but he gets _stuck_ sometimes, can't remember the right word, can't explain a thought or an idea, and he gets frustrated.”

They were at the door of the workshop now, and Lari leaned comfortably on her cane, not opening the door yet. “...he _drifts_ sometimes, doesn't know where he is or what he's doing. We can't leave him alone, in case he wanders off...”

There was a laugh from inside the workshop and Lari smiled tiredly, “Lifur's the best with him, it sounds like they're doing well right now...”

Lari opened the door and they all went quietly into the brightly lit workshop. Little bits of mechanisms and partially made toys were scattered on the workbenches, completed toys on the shelves along the walls.

“We could put the green glass beads like...” Lifur demonstrated, smiling up at Bifur. Ze had grown since Bombur had seen hir last, but was still filled with that same bouncing energy – a fuzzy little beard beginning to grow on the edges of hir jaw.

“No... no Adad!” Lifur protested as Bifur rearranged the beads, but then grinned, “Oooh, you're right! That looks _twice_ as fierce!” Lifur laughed gleefully, and Bifur patted hir fondly on the head before continuing.

Bifur... Bifur had an Orc axe in his head, the wound red and angry around it, and he was thin and pale but he was _alive_ , and functioning.

“He still has his toymaking.” Lari said quietly as they watched, “but they're all turning out...” she called their attention to a few completed toys on the shelves – dragons that looked like they were ready to spit fire, goblins that looked like they were about ready to start a fight, and other things that weren't quite recognizably _anything_ but still looked ferocious.

“I don't know how they'll sell... _Lifur_ loves them of course, little barbarian.”

“He seems to be doing well...” Vegdra said, as Sidgra tried the mechanism on one of Bifur's new dragons and jumped back when it snapped at his fingers.

“He has good days and bad.” Lari said, picking up a little mechanism to play with it fitfully, “The healers can't tell us if he'll get better or worse with time... He won't _eat_ , either. Almost the only thing I can get him to eat is _greens_ and... _you can't live on that..._.” Lari was almost crying, twisting the little bits of metal and wood.

Mirra made soothing sounds, easing the mechanism out of Lari's fine-boned dark fingers before it broke.

“I'll find food he'll eat.” Bombur promised, “...he was always there for us, always took care of Bofur and me...” Bombur nodded, assuring himself as much as Lari, “I can help take care of him now.”

Lari nodded, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve slightly as she gave him a grateful smile.

Bifur looked up and noticed them. He smiled, opening his mouth to...

...no sound came out, and he frowned, looking away and his fists and jaw clenching for a moment before he looked back up.

“hello.” he signed. _“good_ to see you.”

Before Bombur could even answer, Lifur gasped, eyes wide.

“Uncle Bombur did you bring the babies you brought the babies I'm going to go meet the babies bye.” ze gasped out almost as a single word, and was gone, a nut-brown streak flying out the door.

“Forra and Soooorraaaa!” they heard hir voice shouting into the distance.

“...good to see you too.” Bombur said, walking over to throw an arm around Bifur's too-bony shoulders, “...show me what you're making?”

 

Sidgra and Vegdra had left with their warrior friends, hunting goblins for a month, and Bombur was sitting with Bofur on the roof of the workshop.

Over the last few days Bombur had, with Lari's help, found a few more foods that Bifur would eat. He wouldn't eat any meat at all, which was worrying, but he would eat beans and grains. He wouldn't eat eggs, but he would eat some cheese – not much but some. He mostly just wanted to eat vegetables, and green ones if he could... not the most economical thing underneath a mountain, but doable.

Now that Bifur was eating a little better, Lari was feeling better, and just having Mirra around to talk to seemed to help her too. Lifur was absolutely besotted with Forra and Sorra, and they with her. Right now she was helping Mirra put them to bed.

Everyone was doing well, working together to get done what needed done, help each other as much as possible – everyone was doing better than when Mirra and Bombur first arrived except for Bofur. He still smoked too much and had that haunted look in his eyes he'd had the first day.

Bombur didn't know what to do, so he brought him up to the roof of the workshop where it was quiet and just sat with him and let him smoke.

“It was my fault.” Bofur finally said, miserably hunched up in his coat, “I kept arguing that we should go sell in the markets further way, the ones we used to go to when we were all together – I thought we'd be safe if we stuck to the main roads, but... they weren't that _big_ a group of Orcs but it was just the two of us...”

Bofur trailed off and Bombur awkwardly patted his shoulder, trying to offer comfort.

“He didn't even _flinch_ when it hit him.” Bofur said, “I thought for sure he was dead, there was blood everywhere, but he just kept fighting.” Bofur shook his head, as if to get the picture out of it, “I don't think we would have lasted much longer, either of us. He collapsed as soon as the Rangers showed up and ran off the Orcs.” Bofur lapsed into silence again, repacking his pipe.

“Not bad sorts, Rangers.” he said, and Bombur nodded. “They doctored him up or he probably _would_ have died of it... but they _shouldn't_ have had to. We _shouldn't_ have been there. I shouldn't have convinced him to go so far away and now...” He tucked his face into the crook of his elbow, sniffling. Bombur put an arm around his big brother's wiry shoulders and squeezed him tight, resting his forehead against the side of Bofur's head.

“...I've never seen you convince him to do something he didn't _want_ to do.” Bombur said gently, and then Bofur really _did_ start to cry, big broken sobs, holding on tight to his brother as he finally began to let it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lifurs pronouns are about to become wildly inconsistent. This is because Lifur is now around 30, an age when most Dwarves begin to explore their gender options, so Lifur will be trying on different pronouns, for an hour or a day or a month at a time, to see what feels right.  
> Some Dwarves know younger than that what they want to be, I think that most know by 50, and virtually all do by 100 – even if that decision is to never settle into a single set of pronouns. 
> 
> Thinking about Lifur choosing a gender made me think about what choosing their gender was like for the adult Dwarves in this story. I don't know for all of them but...  
> -Mirra – knew very young that she was a she. She was her mother's little princess and loved it.  
> -Bofur – knew pretty much right away that he was a he, but still had a _lot_ of fun trying all the different options on, as is good and right.  
>  -Bombur – thought about things for a long time before deciding on he. Didn't try on any other pronouns except in his head.  
> -Jarn – had a pretty typical exploration of options for a few years before deciding that ze fit best.  
> -Lari – decided young that he wanted to be a fierce warrior, and was, but eventually 'he' and fighting stopped feeling _right_ and she switched to she and toymaking and felt more comfortable there. Does not regret the years spent as he, but she's a different person now. Reserves the right to change pronouns again, if 'she' stops feeling right.


	27. Corn-Bean Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> decisions are made

 

It was easy enough for Bombur to get into the habit of making two different versions of a meal – the main dish and a smaller serving without meat for Bifur. 

Some dishes were easier to do than others, corn-bean pie was one of the easiest. Bombur had Forra 'help' Lifur chop dried tomatoes while he sauteed lots of onions and garlic in a big heavy-bottomed pan, Sorra perched on his hip. 

Mirra and Lari were talking quietly in the other room while Bofur kept and eye on Bifur, who was working on a new toy. Bombur caught a few words from the other room – something about family – he wasn't listening too hard. 

“Are these good?” Lifur asked, and Bombur looked the tomatoes over. They could have been chopped more evenly, but weren't bad. None of the pieces were _too_ big. 

“Perfect!” he said, gesturing to the pan, and Lifur grinned as they dumped the tomatoes in. Bombur helped Forra throw in some cumin and Sorra a handful of oregano, and dealt with the peppers himself, before ladling the beans that had been simmering on the back of the stove all day over the seasonings, stirring it all up together with a little salt. 

He ladled up a little of the beans and blew on them to cool them, tasting them to make sure they weren't too hot, before offering a taste to the children. 

“Good?” he asked, and they all nodded. He put Sorra down to play with Forra and got the leftover roast beef from the night before out of the pantry, cutting it into pieces and pulling it into shreds while the beans simmered. 

He threatened Lifur with his ladle when they stole a piece of meat, and they laughed, running away out of the kitchen followed by Forra and Sorra. The cousins would probably go hide somewhere together to share their ill-gotten snack – it's what Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur would have done when they were little. 

Bombur put a small heavy pan on the stove beside the larger one, spooning some of the beans into it before putting the meat in the big pan. 

He tasted from both pans and adjusted the seasonings a little before making the corn topping, mixing cornmeal with wheat flour, salt and oil, enough water to make a thick batter, and a little grated sharp cheese to round the flavor out. 

Lifur had crept back into the kitchen, leaving Forra and Sorra behind with Mirra, watching him work as he poured the corn topping over the beans. 

“Open the oven?” he asked, and Lifur immediately jumped up to help. He slid the pans into the oven, and they closed the oven, grinning. 

Lifur put an arm around him, “You make the _best_ food.” they sighed happily, leaning into his side, and Bombur ruffled their messy dark curls. 

“...I'm glad you came.” Lifur continued, quietly, “Amad and Uncle Bofur weren't... they weren't doing well, Amad especially... It's better now.”

Bombur squeezed Lifur tight, “We're family.” He said, “You couldn't get rid of us if you _tried.”_

Lifur nodded, relaxing against him, and Bombur just held them for a little while before patting their back. 

“Get me the kale from the pantry?” he asked, and Lifur bounced away to help. 

 

Everyone settled around the table for dinner and Bombur put the pies on it, the smells of the corn and the seasonings of the beans blending deliciously. There was also a big plate of seared kale with toasted slivered almonds and a dash of lemon juice – that went mostly to Bifur but everyone else had just a little bit of it too. 

Bombur served up the corn-bean pie and settled down to eat, pleased to see Bifur digging into his small skillet of pie with an appetite – he was still too thin. 

“Lifur, Bifur...” Lari said, “and Bofur too, I suppose... How would you feel about moving south? Mirra has offered us a place with her family.” she met Mirra's eyes and they shared a smile. 

“It makes sense.” Mirra said, “We shouldn't have had the family split in the first place. My family's claim on the rock is large enough we could carve a house for _twice_ as many Dwarves. We can all look after each other, and the cousins can be together...” She nodded at Lifur and the two little ones. 

“It's good rock and good company.” Bofur said, grinning, “I wouldn't mind at all.” 

Lifur was thoughtfully shredding the kale on their plate, perhaps in the hopes that it would then look like they'd eaten any, “My friends... and my teachers... it would all be _different_...” they mused, but then glanced toward Forra and Sorra – Sorra attempting to feed Forra some half-chewed kale – and smiled slightly. 

“I... I guess, maybe?” they said. 

Everyone looked toward Bifur, unsure how much of the conversation he was getting. Most of the time he knew what was going on, but sometime he _drifted_ , as Lari had put it, and it was not always easy to tell when. 

He finished cleaning the serving plate of kale, “traveling with your leg?” he signed to Lari. 

“It _won't_ be comfortable.” She agreed, “But we'll need a wagon for everything in the toymaking workshop anyway. I'll ride in there.” 

Bifur nodded, “south makes sense.” he signed, “If you're sure.” 

Mirra smiled, serving herself more corn-bean pie. “I was thinking...” she said to Bofur, “You understand the rock better than I do – but we could carve out a new set of apartments from Sidgra and Vegdra's room for Lari, Bifur, and Lifur... and then up on the roof we could carve some new rooms back for you and Sidgra and Vegdra.” 

Bofur chewed thoughtfully on his kale, “Oh aye.” he said, nodding, “That could work.” a slow smile started to spread across his face and Bifur flicked a bean at him. 

“ _separate_ rooms.” he signed, with emphasis. Bofur feigned heartbreak while everyone laughed. 

 

Once the decision had been made, it was surprisingly quick to find another pony and wagon and load up all of Lari and Bifur and Lifur's things. They were all ready to go by the time Sidgra and Vegdra came back from goblin-hunting. 

They made slower progress going south than they had coming north, stopping here and there to sell toys as they went. 

Lifur fell in love with Ered Luin at first sight, and they had to keep a close eye on him to keep him from wandering off to find out what kind of trouble a Dwarf his age could get into.

Children seemed to love Bifur's scary new toys, which surprised Bombur. 

Lifur just rolled his eyes because of _course_ scary toys sell well. 

Bombur was relieved when they finally made it home, everyone all crammed into the house that was, for the moment, too small for all of them. 

Planning for the new rooms began immediately, everyone sketching out ideas and Bofur cheerfully arguing with the settlement planner about what the rock could support. 

Jarn was thrilled to have him back at work, and Bombur was glad to be back. Things were going to be different, but they were all going to be alright. 

They had each other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The corn-bean pie is heavily inspired by my Aunt's Tamale Pie, which is the food of gods.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More time passing and stuff.

It was a big change, having everyone live together, but everyone got along most of the time, especially once they'd carved out enough space to get out from under each other's feet.

Lifur had the hardest time, but if things got too hard at home and she couldn't stand to be around Forra and Sorra for even a _second_ longer she could always come see Bombur at work, put on an apron and help chop vegetables or wash dishes – or help fetch and carry at the forge with Mirra – or, a favorite, spend time with Sidgra and Vegdra listening to goblin-hunting stories and learning how to take care of weapons and armor – if she wasn't in the mood to lock herself in the new workshop to help make toys.

Bofur had carved himself a little balcony nook over the second story of rooms and everyone knew not to disturb him if he went up there for a smoke. He didn't use it often, he was usually so _cheerful_ and friendly, but sometimes he needed a little space and alone time.

Lari and Bifur were both known for locking themselves in their workshop if they were frustrated with anything.

Forra and Sorra were just happy that they had _so many_ people to play with now.

Mirra managed to take out any anger she felt in the forge, so she was able to speak calmly when she needed to confront anyone.

Sidgra and Vegdra didn't fight often, but when they _did_ everyone knew to just clear out of whatever room they were in and do furniture repair later. They never _hurt_ each other, but the room sometimes took damage. They got along fine with everyone else, and if they didn't they just gathered up some friends and went warg-hunting for a while until they cooled down again.

Bombur had no complaints once they expanded the kitchen so he had enough _space_ to cook when everyone crowded in there with him. For some reason the kitchen was the most popular room in the house.

The biggest change, for Bombur at least, was that he had to go traveling with Bifur and Bofur again. They needed him. The language barrier meant Bifur couldn't sell toys alone anymore, couldn't be left alone at _all_ in case he started to drift, which meant that Bofur couldn't find other work to do, which meant they needed Bombur to do it.

Who else could?

Bombur could find work anywhere, he'd always been able to, and he could make sure they ate – especially Bifur – while they were traveling.

His family needed him.

 

Jarn wondered if Bombur knew how much of a difference it made when he was in the kitchen, how much better things went when he was around. There was never any _panic_ when Bombur was around, no matter what went wrong, and things _always_ went wrong in even the best-managed kitchen, Bombur could deal with it.

Jarn was sure there was _nothing_ Bombur couldn't handle... a cook who doesn't blink when unexpectedly presented with _an entire cow_ was one you hold on to – especially if he was also good-tempered and adored by the young cooks he seemed to take under his wing unconsciously. Even the older cooks who'd been around even before Jarn's time respected Bombur's opinion, because it was so obvious he just wanted the food to be _perfect_... without wanting to spend more than Jarn's budget could cover. He worked with whatever Jarn gave him to work with, and the food was always delicious.

He obviously loved his job, in the nearly ten years he'd been staying in the settlement and working for Jarn full-time he had relaxed and opened up – sometimes he would even call out instructions or suggestions across the kitchen instead of just demonstrating, and Jarn enjoyed the nights ze and Bombur were the last out of the kitchen and ze would put hir feet up and they could share some leftovers while casually discussing what was to come in the next few days in the kitchen.

Bombur had become a good friend. It had been good to see him so happy, to see him come in to work every day with a smile, and that's why it was so hard to see him so miserable. He didn't go away for as long as he used to, he spent his winters under the mountain, but he looked so _worn_ every time he came back from a trip.

Perhaps the worst of it was that he stopped talking again – as though the effort of traveling and searching for work had drained him of all his words – and Jarn hated it. Ze knew it's what had to happen, knew the family well enough to see that, but ze _still_ hated it.

 

Mirra could feel it in the way he clung to her in his sleep, could _see_ it in the way he couldn't stop holding Forra and Sorra – wanted nothing more than to sit with Mirra and the children piled around him and listen to everything that had happened in his absence – petting their hair and looking at them as though he couldn't quite believe they were _really_ there.

Bombur was miserable traveling away from them.

Being Bombur, of course, he didn't say a word of it.

Everyone else knew it too, and Mirra didn't like having him away from her either. There were quiet discussions trying to figure out some other way but there _was_ no other way to be had. Lari and Bifur's toys had to travel to be sold, and Bifur could not go alone or just with Bofur, and no one else could take care of them as well as Bombur. Lari chaffed at it, that she could not go with them though she preferred to stay home too, but the journey south had been uncomfortable enough for her to remember why it was a bad idea. Sidgra and Vegdra could not travel at the same pace and to the same places as were needed to sell toys and still work themselves.

And Mirra... she could have done it, taken her little mobile forge and gone – her brothers wouldn't like it at all, but it wasn't like they could _stop_ her – but it was dangerous to take the little ones out from under the mountain and she could not bear to leave them behind. The very thought of it warred against every instinct she had and she _knew_ that that's exactly how it felt for Bombur too.

She did suggest it, once, late at night when it seemed like Bombur was on the verge of tears at the thought of having to leave again.

He'd held onto her so tight it nearly hurt, whispering “no no no.” against her neck.

“I couldn't...” he finally said, “I just _couldn't_ Mirra. It would be _worse..._ I need you to be _here_ , safe, with the little ones.”

She kissed him, and didn't bring it up again.

And it broke her heart when she saw the way he couldn't stop holding Forra and Sorra – when she felt the way he clung to her in his sleep – as though he were afraid they would disappear.

 

Forra was fifteen and Sorra was nine, sweet red-headed terrors of children who were constantly getting each other into and out-of trouble – as was the responsibility of siblings everywhere – more often than not with the assistance of their cousin Lifur.

Sorra was nine, Forra was fifteen, and Borra was a surprise – but not an unwelcome one.

The family had done everything they could so that Bombur could be home for at least the last six months of Mirra's pregnancy and the first year of the baby's life – though Lari and Bifur made less money on their toys since Bifur and Bofur could not go far to sell them.

Borra was beautiful, just as beautiful as Forra and Sorra had been, though Borra's hair was clear yellow blonde while the elders had always been red.

“Like our Amad...” Bofur said, his eyes both happy and sad as he gently stroked Borra's fair hair, and Bombur nodded. Their mother had had very pale hair, especially if she had been out on the surface in the sun.

“Vegdra and Sidgra had hair like this.” Mirra said, “It darkened by the time they were thirty.” Bombur didn't know who Borra would take after, uncles or grandmother, but he _knew_ that the little one would always be beautiful no matter what.

He didn't think that anything that came from Mirra could ever be _not_ beautiful.

Forra and Sorra worshiped Borra, Forra would never have put the baby down given a choice, and Sorra's favorite pastime was interpreting what Borra needed when the baby cried. They took their responsibilities as elder siblings very seriously.

With so many wanting to care for Borra, Bombur had to insist if he wanted to bring the baby to work with him. There were few things as nice as cooking with a slingfull of happy cooing baby on his back, it made everyone at work happy too, especially Jarn – and Bombur wanted to spend as much time with Borra as he could before he had to leave again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a side story of Lari and Bifur's first meeting, which you can read here:   
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/856552  
>  
> 
> Also, I feel like this story is about to start having plot after maybe one more chapter. 30 chapters before plot isn't ridiculous at all, right?


	29. honey-pear tarts and lace

Lifur threw a fit when Bifur Bofur and Bombur were leaving again. They were headed north to Ered Luin since they had a lot of toys they'd been unable to sell in the last year and a half without Bombur's help – they hadn't been in Ered Luin in a few years so it would be a good market for them.

Lifur had asked, once again, to come with them. They told him, as they always did, that he was too young and it wasn't safe. 

He had _loved_ Ered Luin when they traveled through, wanting to explore every corner of it, wandering happily through the market, peering at all the different things for sale. He always asked to come with them when they were going to Ered Luin. 

He argued, pointing out that his combat teacher said he was _very good_ with the matched knives Mirra had made for him, that he was good enough with numbers that he could help with selling toys; he wheedled, he whined, he begged, and when it became clear that they would be standing firm he screamed and slammed out of the house, stomping up to Bofur's little balcony to sulk. 

They didn't expect him to stay angry long but he still hadn't come down when Bombur was getting ready to prepare dinner, and they began to worry. 

Bombur made Lifur's favorite pear tart with Forra's worried assistance while Bifur and Bofur and Lari and Mirra discussed what to do. 

Forra stirred the dried pears with honey, cloves, and cinnamon on the stove while Bombur worked the butter through the flour and added _just_ enough water for it to hold together. 

No one was coming up with a solution for what to do for Lifur, but they were all agreed that he was too young to go, not with such a small group. Bifur wasn't saying much, but even he agreed with that. 

Bombur rolled the pastry out and cut palm-sized circles out of it. Forra helped fish the cinnamon sticks and cloves out of the pear filling, sucking on a cinnamon stick and giving one to Sorra, putting the last one aside for Lifur because it was his favorite. 

Forra spooned the filling onto the little pastry rounds and Bombur folded the edges up around it, lining them up on a baking sheet, brushing the pastries with beaten egg so they came out shiny. 

Dinner was a simple enough bean soup, to be spooned over buttered bread. Bombur seared some greens and stirred half of them into the soup, the other half would go into Bifur's bowl, and diced up some ham for everyone else to top their soup with. 

Bombur sliced the bread and Forra buttered it and placed it in everyone's bowls for them, and Lari went to try to coax Lifur down for dinner. 

She came back with her jaw tight, “Lifur says he isn't hungry.” she said, but then her shoulders eased slightly, “He sounds like he's been crying...” she added quietly, a line of worry between her brows. 

Bifur drew her head down to kiss her forehead, then took his bowl of soup, and Lifurs, and a plate with a few pear tarts and Lifur's saved cinnamon stick, and went to go eat up on Bofur's balcony. 

Bifur and Lifur stayed up on the little balcony long past the time everyone else was done eating. The little ones had been put to bed by the time they came down, Bifur carrying the empty dishes, handing them off to Bofur as soon as he could. 

“Thank you for the tarts Uncle Bombur.” Lifur said quietly, his eyes red-rimmed still. He gave Bifur a watery smile, squeezing his father's hand, and went to his room, shoulders drooping. Lari watched after him, concerned. 

“be ok.” Bifur signed, “talked to him.” 

Lari rested her forehead gently against Bifur's, “If you say so, love... I wish he _could_ go.” 

“someday.” Bifur signed, though Lari couldn't see it. 

Lifur wished to go, and Bombur wished he could stay. 

Mirra put an arm around Bombur and led him to their room for one last night before he had to leave again. 

 

Ered Luin was still Ered Luin. Good in that it was easy to sell toys there for a good price, good that it was easy to find a kitchen to cook in, good that nobody looked at Bombur twice in the streets, good that you could buy _anything_ in the markets – for a price. Bad that everything was so crowded, bad that you had to keep a constant sharp lookout for the thieves – but at least Bombur didn't look like a rich target. 

Bifur and Bofur were packing up their stall at the market, the toyselling had gone well – they had made a good profit and Bofur was cheerful. Bombur helped them pack everything away, and then they went shopping through the market. 

They tried to get things that were useful, hard to get in a small settlement, and small enough to be packed easily home. 

Bifur insisted on buying a piece of lace. It was pretty lace, well-constructed and a vivid teal color but... lace? They tried to talk him out of it. 

“What do you need it for?” Bofur asked, _“You're_ not going to wear it, and _Lari's_ never going to wear lace, I promise you that! Hah, I can't even _picture_ it.” 

Bifur tried to explain, but he was... not having one of his better days. He waved his hand in half-formed words, clenching his fists and closing his eyes in frustration, _knowing_ he was not communicating and unable to fix it. He took several deep breaths before finally just signing. 

“buy.” 

“If it's for a toy, I'm sure we can find something a little less pricy that'll still work...” Bofur tried, but Bifur just signed “buy” again, frustration clear on his face. 

“...most of the time...” Bombur ventured to Bofur, “...even when he can't explain, _most_ of the time what he's doing actually makes sense.” 

“So we just buy it?” Bofur asked, “It's not cheap, Bombur...” 

“We can sell it to someone else if it turns out there's no use for it.” Bombur shrugged, “but he's not going to back down.” 

“buy” Bifur signed, the only word he seemed able to sign at the moment, holding onto the piece of lace tight. 

Bofur sighed and bought the piece of lace. Bifur watched eagerly as the fabric merchant wrapped it up into a neat package of linen and string – tucking it away into his pack with a smile. 

 

Bombur was, as always, thrilled to come back home – to breathe the particular scent of _this_ settlement's air, the cool scent of this mountain's particular rock and metal-tinted from the forges, seeing all the familiar sights as he got closer and closer to home. 

They spotted Vegdra and Sidgra having a smoke on Bofur's balcony and Bofur called out, waving to them, and they must have called down into the house because everyone came boiling out, Forra and Sorra and Mirra carrying little Borra all hugging Bombur while Lifur tacked Bifur and Lari made her way more slowly out of the house with a big smile. Sidgra and Vegdra came down and hugged Bofur, so he wouldn't feel left out, and Mirra reached over and smacked Bofur on the back of the head when he used the opportunity to flirt. 

They all trooped back into the house, Bifur drew Lifur aside just inside the door, handing hir the little package of lace. Bombur kept half an eye on them as he listened to Forra tell him _everything_ he'd missed, words tumbling over themselves in eagerness. 

“Adad?” Lifur asked. 

“for you. open.” Bifur signed. 

Lifur squealed when ze saw the lace, “Ada, it's so _pretty_... it's _just_ like I told you, I didn't know if you would remember... Thank you thank you thank you!” 

Lifur held the lace against the lines of hir tunic, pushed back a sleeve to look at it against hir skin, held it against a cheek, smiling up at Bifur adoringly. 

“What do you think?” ze asked. 

“beautiful.” Bifur signed, and Lifur nodded, holding the lace out between hir hands. 

“It _is_ beautiful.” ze sighed. 

“not it. you.” Bifur signed.

“Ada...” Lifur ducked shyly, feet shuffling, and Bifur gently raised hir chin. 

“ _beautiful.”_ he signed again, with emphasis, and then went to Lari, who raised an eyebrow at him while Lifur recovered and darted away to try to decide which piece of clothing to attach the lace to. 

“Lace?” Lari asked, and Bifur nodded firmly. 

Bombur got himself unpacked and cleaned up, and then went into the kitchen to cook with the enthusiastic help of his little ones. He could hear, from the other room, the conversation as everyone tried to help Lifur decide the best way to use the lace – and a few snippets of a quieter conversation about seeing if Lifur were interested in apprenticing to a tailor – at least paying for a few lessons to see if the interest were there... 

Bombur held his little ones close, Borra in a sling and Sorra on his hip, Forra eagerly bouncing around the room helping and returning frequently to Bombur's side for hugs, and he cooked at _home_ , in his own kitchen, with his family, and it was good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lifur is turning into an emotional teenager. Poor Lifur. Life is hard at that age.


	30. affairs in order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Quest begins.   
> Manly tears were shed in the writing this chapter, so be warned. 
> 
> According to the Neo-Khuzdul dictionary, Uhyshar means Parent. I wanted a word to use instead of Amad and Adad, something for a parent who doesn't identify as binary. Uhyshar is a little bit awkward for that, so I shortened it to Ushar. I would have shortened it to Shar but that apparently means smoke.   
> I also wanted a word for something like 'honorary parent' or 'godparent', Uhysharul means 'parentlike', so I shortened that to Usharul.   
> I hope it doesn't read awkwardly.   
> If anyone has an idea for better words to use, let me know!

Bombur wished that he could disappear. 

Bombur wished that he were a small Dwarf who could ease back slowly and fade out of notice. 

Bombur wished they had never come to Ered Luin, even if it _was_ such a good market for toys. 

Bombur wished the Dwarf he was sitting across the tavern table from were not a King, so it wouldn't matter if he was rude and left suddenly. 

Bombur wished most of all that he were not hearing Bofur and Bifur talk to Thorin Oakenshield about reclaiming Erebor. He wished he were not hearing Thorin talk about needing Dwarves with diverse skills, well used to travel, speaking about his family. He wished Bifur and Bofur weren't even entertaining the ridiculous idea, talking about how their skills could compliment those already sworn to the quest. 

Bombur wished the King were not looking at him with those freezing, calculating eyes as he said he'd heard good things about Bombur's cooking skills. Bombur wished Bofur weren't bragging about him. 

Bombur wished Bifur and Bofur would remember their families, remember that Bombur had Mirra and his little ones, remember that Bifur had Lari and Lifur, remember that their families were _worth living for_. 

It was when they started talking about 'the gold of Erebor' and 'a new homeland' and 'a better life' in _that_ tone of voice that Bombur stopped caring how rude it was, he couldn't _listen_ to it anymore. 

He tried to leave quietly, but he couldn't disappear, and he wasn't a small Dwarf, and he was clumsy with panic, his chair scraping loudly as he pushed back. 

He heard the conversation falter, could _feel_ their eyes on his back as he escaped as quickly as he could without running. 

He sat on the edge of his bed, ladle clutched tight against his chest, fingers running up and down the smooth wooden handle as he rocked slightly back and forth. 

Last time... last time it had been King Thror, last time it had been his family's kitchen table, last time he'd been playing in the background, listening curiously, last time it had been 'the mithril of Moria' and 'our homeland' and 'a better life' they said in _that_ tone of voice. 

Then Amad and Ushar had gone away, and never come home, and Bombur didn't know _how_ Bifur and Bofur didn't _remember_ that, didn't know how they thought facing a Dragon would end any differently. 

Bombur didn't want to do that to his little ones, to Forra – nineteen and so full of life, to Sorra – thirteen and uncontainable, to Borra – a sweet cuddly four who wouldn't even _remember_ him. He didn't want to do that to _Mirra_. 

It was a long time later when Bofur came to find him. His eyes were shining with the promise of gold, but he looked worried too, sitting beside Bombur on the bed and putting an arm around him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, and Bombur shook his head vehemently. 

“...I won't go...” he said. “I _won't_... it's just like when Ama and Usha...” 

“No, Bombur...” Bofur soothed, “It's not like that at all...” 

“It _is_.” Bombur contested hotly, “I _wont go_.” 

Bofur squeezed him tighter with the arm around his shoulders. “We don't have to decide anything right now.” he said, “We'll talk to the rest of the family.” 

 

Bombur stayed in the kitchen with his littles, Forra and Sorra bouncing around the kitchen helping him get ingredients, Borra perched on his hip directing everything with a wooden spoon and only _occasionally_ whacking Bombur with it. 

The kitchen was safe. 

In the kitchen everything was good smells and good tastes, making sure Forra and Sorra scraped the leftover cake batter out of the bowl and shared it fairly while he mixed up some fresh soft cheese with honey and cinnamon to top the carrot cake when it came out of the oven. 

Outside the kitchen everyone was excitedly talking about the quest. In their minds the mountain was already reclaimed – Lifur could live at home and be apprenticed to the finest of master tailors instead of just picking up whatever bits and pieces he could while he waited to be old enough to go to Ered Luin to be apprenticed so far away from his family, Bofur was mining gold and priceless gems out of the mountain rock, Lari and Bifur were famous toymakers with their own storefront, Mirra had her own forge, making her own designs, with apprentices of her own. In their minds his little ones could be apprenticed to masters of whatever craft they chose. 

Last time, his parents had dreamed of Bombur training to be a chef worthy of Kings, able to buy rare ingredients from all over the world, had dreamed of Bofur being the finest mithril miner of his age... but it hadn't turned out the way his parents had dreamed. Instead Bofur and Bombur ended up orphaned, wandering endlessly from place to place after Bifur who wasn't _really_ that much older than them, begging for work over and overand _over_ again. 

Bombur didn't want that for his little ones, not _ever_. 

Bombur stayed in the kitchen, where it was safe, with his little ones, and cooked. 

When the carrot cake was all cooked and cooled he had them help frost it and cut it into thick squares. He sent them out with the cake to the rest of everyone, Sorra leading Borra while Forra carried the cake and plates. 

Bombur stayed in the kitchen, washing the dishes slowly. 

Outside the kitchen Lifur was excitedly talking about the wonderful clothes he would make, with fine silks and linens and lace and beads made of gemstones and mithril. Bofur was musing over the tales he'd heard the surviving miners of Erebor tell of the mountain's rock. Mirra and Lari were talking about how _they'd_ like to go along too, were their situations different. 

Bombur was finally washing the last of the dishes, the water having long gone cold, when Mirra came to find him. Her eyes were shining. 

She gushed at him about what a wonderful opportunity it was, for all of them – talking about how wonderful it was going to be, with Bombur never needing to travel away from home again if he didn't want to, once they'd moved their family into Erebor. 

“... there's a _Dragon._..” He tried to remind, but she waved it off. Bifur and Bofur had sounded more confident than Thorin had sounded that the Dragon _must_ be dead, after so long unseen. 

“...it's not _our_ homeland...” he tried, but she said that since Moria clearly _couldn't_ be retaken, they should try for Erebor. 

“I like it _here_.” he tried, one final time, and she looked at him with those wonderful eyes, so green with flecks of the purest blue, and asked him if he didn't _want_ better for their little ones, sad and confused, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. 

“Just this one last trip, Bombur.” she said, “Just this one, and then you never have to leave us again. We'll be able to be together!” 

All of Bombur's words were stuck somewhere in his throat. Mirra had decided that he was going to go, and he couldn't... 

“Just this one last trip, then we can all be together.” Mirra said, “They need you to do this... _we_ need you to do it.” 

Bombur closed his eyes, hiding his face in her braids, holding her as tight as he could. 

He nodded. 

For Mirra, he would do _anything._

 

Bombur was still up, unable to sleep, when Sidgra and Vegdra came home. The more they prepared for the quest, the worse he slept. 

He'd crept out to the kitchen to avoid waking Mirra with his tossing and turning... in a little he might check on his little ones...

Sidgra and Vegdra seemed surprised to see him, in a good mood from what must have been a successful Warg-hunting trip. 

“What's this we hear about you running off to reclaim Erebor?” Sidgra asked, leaning against Bombur from one side. 

“You weren't going to sneak off without us, were you?” Vegdra asked, leaning against his other side, and Bombur's heart froze. “You can't go hogging all the glory for yourself!” 

“I hear the sons of Fundin are already sworn to the quest.” Sidgra mused. 

“Mmm... Dwalin...” Vegdra said, stroking his beard braids to smooth them, “Do you think I'll have a chance with him?” 

Sidgra laughed, “nah, I hear he only likes _pretty_ Dwarves.” 

The brothers swatted at each other around Bombur for a little, laughing, but stopped before it devolved into a wrestling match. Vegdra slung his arm around Bombur's shoulders, sobering. 

“How soon do we leave, and what do we bring?” He asked, the same look in his eyes as everyone else had, the same anticipation and hope... and Bombur just _couldn't_... 

“No.” he managed, the word coming out choked as he closed his eyes, hands coming up to cover his face automatically, “No, no...” If Vegdra and Sidgra came too, then it would just be Mirra and Lari alone with the little ones...

“Bombur?” Vegdra sounded worried, moving around him, “Bombur, what is it?” and Bombur had to do _something..._

He opened his eyes, Sidgra and Vegdra were both standing in front of him now, looking worried. He grabbed their arms to hold them so they couldn't escape and saw them startle at his strength – he was _always_ stronger than people thought. 

“You can't come.” he said, forcing the words out with all the desperation of sleepless nights worrying about his family, with all the heartbreak of what they'd asked him to do. They _had_ to listen, _no one_ else would. 

“ _Someone_ has to take care of Mirra and the little ones, and Lari and Lifur, because we're not... we're not...” Bombur's throat caught on the words and he couldn't face Vegdra and Sidgra's twin looks of concern and confusion. He closed his eyes, the words coming out fast and quiet, but at least they weren't _stuck._

“...my parents followed Thror to Moria and they never came home... we won't be coming _home._..” 

that was it. That was all the words he had, his throat closing off as he swallowed a sob, eyes burning with the tears that squeezed their way out of his eyelids. 

He could feel Sidgra and Vegdra's arms moving, they were talking to each other. He let them go and turned away, he didn't want them to see... 

“Bombur...” Vegdra said gently, arms catching him. 

“Brother.” Sidgra added, and they had pulled him into them, resting their foreheads against his the way they so often did for Mirra. 

“We'll take care of them, we swear.” Vegdra said firmly. 

“We'll stay. We won't go.” Sidgra said, and there was only a little remorse in his voice. 

“...thank you...” Bombur managed through the tears. 

 

Bombur said goodbye like he was going to his own execution, and it broke Jarn's heart. Bombur had made sure to spend at least a few minutes of his last day working with each of the cooks – not saying anything in most cases, just being there, and they all knew him well enough now to know what he meant by it. 

As often happened, Jarn and Bombur were the last out of the kitchen at the end of the day. Jarn put hir feet up and ate some leftovers, making sure Bombur had a plate of the same to pick at. As was so often the case on his last day Bombur seemed reluctant to leave, but he did eventually gather himself to go. He helped Jarn blow the lamps out on their way out – pausing here and there to rest a fond hand on an oven or a chopping block, or take one last look into a pantry. 

Jarn put a hand on Bombur's arm as ze closed and locked the last door behind them. 

“We'll all miss you.” ze said. Bombur's answering smile was watery, but he pulled Jarn into a firm hug. 

“...you run the _best_ kitchen I ever worked in.” Bombur said, releasing hir.

“You're one of the best cooks I've ever worked with.” Jarn answered, and they might have parted with nothing more but ze thought ze saw something else in Bombur's face and waited. The sturdy cook rocked on his heels slightly, looking at everything _around_ Jarn, before he finally seemed to find the words he wanted. 

“My little ones have known you their whole lives... they... they _love_ you. Will you help look after them when I'm...” Bombur's voice faded out, eyes a little haunted. 

“Of course.” Jarn assured him, “Of course I will, the whole _mountain_ will look after them while you're gone. We always do.” Bombur nodded, but there still seemed to be a little more, so Jarn waited. 

“...would you be Usharul for them?” he asked quietly, nervously, and Jarn's breath caught. 

If Bombur were asking that, he really _didn't_ think he would be coming back. It was a big responsibility Bombur asked hir to take on for the little ones – with a correspondingly large one running the other direction. Jarn hardly had to think before ze answered, the rare chance to be an Usharul was so... and to such sweet children as Forra and Sorra and Borra... 

“Oh Bombur...” Jarn couldn't help the tears in the corners of hir eyes, “I would be _honored_.” 

Bombur's smile seemed a little more genuine this time. They knocked foreheads to seal it, and then Bombur worked Usharul braids into Jarn's steel-gray hair, his hands gentle but firm. 

“thank you.” he said quietly, giving hir one last hug before he left. 

Jarn touched hir new braids, watching Bombur go, walking as though to his own execution with his head held high, and it broke hir heart. 

 

Bombur tried to be quiet, but they still heard him and went out to sit with him. He had made his way up to Bofur's little balcony, and had borrowed Bofur's pipe and pipe weed too, smoking in the dark.

He probably didn't think anyone would hear him, since Bofur had spent the evening in the tavern saying goodbye to his mining buddies and was now dead to the world. 

Sidgra and Vegdra joined him, settling beside him, and he wordlessly passed Bofur's pipe to them. They shared the bowl with him in silence, and when it was done they continued to sit with him in the dark, looking over the little settlement that was home, seeing the few lights that were on at this time of night. 

Bombur's voice was so quiet that even in the silence of the night they almost couldn't hear him. 

“If... someday, if Mirra finds someone else...” he started. 

“No, Bombur, you're not going to...” Sidgra interrupted, and Bombur's voice cut off instantly. Vegdra slapped a hand across Sidgra's mouth, hissing at him to be quiet and _listen_. 

It was a while before Bombur continued, still just as quiet. 

“I just want her to be happy... if she finds someone and they make her happy, then tell her that...” Bombur nodded to himself, “I want her to... _if_ they make her happy...” 

“We'll tell her, if it comes to that.” Vegdra promised quietly, his voice a little thick, and Bombur nodded again, reaching over to pat them both on the shoulder before he left, going back downstairs into the house, taking Bofur's pipe with him. 

Sidgra and Vegdra stayed up on the little balcony for a while longer.

 

Bombur said goodbye to everyone, his pack on his back, his ladle at his side, and his heart somewhere below his boots. 

Vegdra and Sidgra would do ok. They had their friends and their hunting and they would take care of everyone for him as well as they could. He knocked foreheads with them both and reminded them to take care of everyone. 

Lari, Lari who had known their family for so long before she joined it... He hugged her and knocked foreheads and wondered how she would sell her wonderful toys now, without Bifur and Bofur and Bombur to carry them off to sell. 

Bombur picked Lifur clean up in a hug, though ze protested it, laughing, and wondered if they would be _able_ to afford to have hir apprenticed at all once they were gone. He reminded hir to be good and help with the little ones and keep practicing hir stitchwork, and Lifur promised that ze would. 

He reminded his little ones to be good, and hugged and kissed each one of them in turn. 

“I love you.” he said, the last thing he said to each, good last words to say, though little Borra wouldn't remember. 

He kissed Mirra and rested his forehead against hers, just holding her. His Mirra, the very best Darrowdam in the world and he'd been lucky enough, somehow, to have her. 

“I love you.” he told her, kissing her one last time, and she smiled that perfect smile at him with the little gap between her front teeth that he loved so much... 

He followed Bifur and Bofur away, closing his eyes tight-tight before he turned the final corner and they would all be out of sight for the last time, schooling his expression before he turned around to look and wave goodbye so the last they saw of him was not of tears. 

He closed his eyes to the cool mountain air and the scent of stone and the forges under the mountain. 

He opened them again to sticky stifling heat, the scent of rot beneath dark looming trees, and thirst, and starvation. 

He opened his eyes to Mirkwood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the book, Bombur falls into a stream in Mirkwood and loses his memory of the beginning of the quest. I'm not sure if they'll put that in the movie.
> 
> I'm thinking, even if the Ur family didn't return, and even if Sidgra and Vegdra had gone with and also didn't return, Mirra and the kids (and by extension Lari and Lifur, since they live with her) would have been better off than Bifur and Bofur and Bombur had been, because they have a much stronger community and a better safety net than the Urs had. Bombur, if he were thinking about things logically, would realize that, but he's not. He's going on pure instinct, and his instinct says 'parent leaving to go reclaim a homeland = dead parent = homeless wandering kids'.   
> With Jarn as Usharul, ze has a responsibility to the kids very similar to a parent. If something were to happen to both Bombur and Mirra, ze would have as much responsibility to them as Lari and Sidgra and Vegdra, and as good a chance at being seen as their legal guardian. Also, it is expected that the kids will look after Jarn in hir old age just as they might their parents. It is not a thing to ask or enter into lightly.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the quest

Mirra missed Bombur like an ache beneath her breastbone, he'd not been gone for so long in _years._

She sat with Sidgra and Vegdra in the kitchen, they were idly poking through the cabinets looking for a late evening snack while she worked on plans for a new piece to keep herself busy. 

Vegdra finally decided on bread with some leftover gravy, and he and Sidgra settled beside Mirra to eat. 

“I miss Bombur's food.” Sidgra grumped, and Vegdra kicked him for disparaging his gravy, but neither of them seemed to have the heart to wrestle about it. 

“I miss _Bombur_.” Mirra sighed, and her brothers nodded in agreement. She poked at her design a time or two more before giving up and pushing it away, snagging a piece of bread from Vegdra and helping herself to some gravy. 

“Why didn't you two go?” Mirra asked, they'd brushed it off at the time, and with all the preparations to get Bifur and Bofur and Bombur ready to go she'd not questioned it... but it seemed like a kind of thing they would like to do. 

“Bombur asked us not to.” Vegdra said quietly, paying very close attention to spreading the last of the gravy evenly across his bread. 

“Bombur?” Mirra had not expected _that_ answer, if anything he should have been asking them to go _with_ him, the more warriors the better on such a quest, “Why would he...” 

“Probably for the same reason he asked Jarn to be Usharul.” Sidgra said, taking the empty gravy pot to the sink, patting Vegdra on the shoulder on the way back, the two of them heading to their room for bed. 

It's _true_ that Bombur had made Jarn Usharul to the little ones before he left, a good choice, one of their oldest family friends, someone the little ones already knew and loved, hir help had been welcome in Bombur's extended absence... but what would _that_ have to do with Sidgra and Vegdra staying...

unless...

Oh. 

Mirra closed her eyes as the realization hit her like a hammer blow. 

Unless he was trying to provide for Mirra and the little ones, because he didn't expect to be successful. 

Everyone had gotten so _excited_ about it, and it was so easy to push Bombur around because he _wouldn't_ argue back. 

She had forgotten, in her excitement at the prospect of a such a better life for them and their little ones and the siren song of gold. She had _forgotten_ , and she had pushed him into it, and of course he had done exactly as she asked without saying a word. 

Even if he thought it would kill him. 

She slumped forward until her forehead rested on the cold tabletop. 

Oh _Bombur..._

 

Bombur had a lot of time, alone in the Elf-King's dungeon, to try to piece together whatever memories he could of the beginning of the quest. 

He wasn't sure how much of his memories were true and how much was dreams brought on by starvation and spider poison and falling into a cursed stream. 

He remembered riding ponies, and running, and hiking with a heavy pack, and fighting Orcs and Wargs and Trolls and Goblins, which seemed reasonable enough, but he also remembered mountains that moved beneath his feet, and being carried by a giant Eagle, and a Man who could turn into a bear, and that didn't seem right. 

He thought he remembered a land of soft green hills with little doors and windows in them, and a cozy little underground house, and a table spread with the very _finest_ of foods the surface had to offer. He thought he remembered Bofur claiming that he was in love with Hobbits, _all_ the Hobbits, and was going to marry the entire Shire and spend the rest of his days passed from house to house, being fed and snuggled. 

No matter how hard he tried, he could not remember turning back for his one last look at Mirra and his littles, and that hurt. 

The food was plain and repetitive but not terrible, but they never quite gave him _enough_ of it. Bombur wanted to ask the nervous, dark haired young Elf cook who brought it for _more_ , or ask him about some of the unfamiliar seasonings, but he was a prisoner and he knew better than to talk to his captors. They would just use it against him, he was sure, so he did was came easiest and was silent. 

And waited. 

 

When they were finally escaping, Bombur noticed Bofur kissing the Hobbit before he was shoved into his barrel, Bilbo practically scaling Bofur like a mountain as they clung to one another.

Brave, fussy little Bilbo had been kind enough to bring Bombur extra food a time or two, and to tell him how Bifur and Bofur were doing. Bombur was a little surprised that he would go for someone like _Bofur,_ but then Bofur had always been able to charm whoever he liked, and he'd taken a liking to Hobbits in general. 

...but that wasn't right, was it? Bombur seemed to remember helping _Bilbo_ snare _Bofur_ , but those memories were all tangled up with the Bear/Man memories and he couldn't trust them. 

Then the barrels all rolled out into the water, and Bombur only focused on surviving for just a little longer. 

 

In Laketown, Bombur focused on cooking for everyone, and preparing travel food, and listening. 

It seemed like even his most unlikely memories were shared by everyone, so there was _that_. 

He wasn't sure how he _felt_ about having come so close to dying so many times _already_. 

 

Bombur had thought that staying _away_ from the secret door would be safer from the Dragon. 

He was wrong. 

He was just glad that the Company were strong enough and fast enough to haul him and Bofur up the side of the cliff and into the Mountain in time. 

All their supplies were gone, though, except for a single bag of _cram_ Bombur had managed to keep ahold of. 

 

Erebor was beautiful. 

Dragon-ravaged and empty, but beautiful. 

Bombur had never _seen_ such architecture. 

He helped search for the Arkenstone, and rationed the food, and was quiet and listened with his heart somewhere below his boots as King Thorin planned for war. 

 

The Battle...

Bombur tried not to think about the Battle.

 _Ever_. 

He hadn't expected to live. 

Fili and Kili and Thorin _had_. 

 

Maybe it was because he was so busy trying to feed everyone with the limited supplies available in the Mountain when he wasn't helping clear rubble, but it didn't really hit Bombur until a few weeks into the restoration that he'd _made it_ , that he and his family had _survived_. 

That he didn't have to spend every moment dreading the next and mourning what he left behind. 

It was when Ori was helping him write a letter to Mirra, since his writing was smaller and quicker and neater and he could fit more on the little pieces of parchment the Ravens carried, that it finally sank in. Bombur broke off in the middle of his carefully-planned sentence, the sudden relief swamping him. 

He was going to get to see Mirra again. 

He was going to get to hold his little ones, Forra and Sorra and Borra, again. He was going to get to see them grow up.

Once they came to Erebor, he would never have to leave them again. 

Bombur put his hands over his face and _tried_ to stop crying. 

Not only was he alive, he was _rich_. It had _worked._ He could give Mirra and his littles everything they'd dreamed of when they sent him off, and more. 

And he would _never have to leave them again_. 

“Bombur?” Ori sounded worried, the kind little scribe reaching over to squeeze Bombur's arm, “Bombur, what's wrong?” 

“...I... I never thought we would _live_... I never thought I would _see_ them again...” he gasped out, coughing as he tried to control his breathing, tried to _stop crying_ , and failed. 

Ori made soft soothing sounds as he wrapped his scrawny arms around Bombur, hugging him with surprising strength. Bombur hugged him back, hiding his face in the little scribe's baggy cardigan, noticing that he had to make sure Ori got more food because he was _far_ too skinny even while he cried into the scratchy wool. 

Ori wouldn't let him apologize when he was done, wiping both his own eyes and Bombur's with the back of his glove. 

“Let's just get this letter written.” Ori said, reading back what Bombur had already dictated, and Bombur nodded, remembering what he wanted to say, and continued his letter. 

There was a little room left over at the end, and Ori left him to write any personal message he wanted in the space. 

In the end, Bombur couldn't think of anything more to say. 

“I love you.” He concluded it, writing carefully in the small space, “Your Bombur.” 

 

There were rumors, and the rumors were terrifying. A few ravens had arrived in the Blue Mountains, and the information they carried had passed from ear to ear and arrived at Mirra's in a thousand different forms. 

Smaug was defeated and Erebor reclaimed, that much was agreed upon. 

Thorin and his heirs were dead, this also was agreed upon. 

How they had died and how many (if _any_ ) of the rest of his Company had survived was not. 

Mirra saw the echo of her own aching fear in Lari's eyes too as they waited for _any_ word from Bifur and Bombur. 

Sidgra and Vegdra's grim stoicism and the worried sympathy in Jarn's eyes was almost too much to take. 

They kept the rumors from Forra and Sorra and Borra, but they couldn't protect Lifur from them. He came home from his lessons wide-eyed and shaking, a gray pallor under his skin, the day he heard the rumor that the entirety of the Company had been slaughtered by Orcs. 

It took them hours to calm him down, when the kindest true thing they could tell him was that they _did not know_ , and they would not lie to him. 

Every day without news was a torment. Mirra was _useless_ at the forge, lacking the steadiness and attention for anything but the roughest work. 

Day, after day, after day, there was no news, and every day the cold fear in the pit of her stomach grew stronger. 

She nearly wept with relief when there was a letter, for the first instant not _caring_ what it said, just that the wait was _over_ , then she pried the canister open with shaking hands to pull the thin piece of parchment out. 

Her heart froze when she saw the neat writing, _not Bombur's_ , the crisp, even strokes of a professional scribe. 

The words were his though. 

They had _made it_ , all three of them. Erebor was beautiful, he said, and he said the house he and Bifur and Bofur had claimed was big and beautiful. 

He said he missed them, and hoped they could come in an early caravan, even though supplies would be low in the Mountain for a few years yet. 

It was the last few words, on the end of the parchment in Bombur's own scratchy hand, that finally made her _believe_ it. 

He'd survived.

“Lari!” Mirra was running for the workshop, she _couldn't_ leave the older Darrowdam in suspense, only to find her halfway to the house, a letter clutched in her own fingers and happy tears running down her cheeks. 

They crashed together, Mirra being careful not to knock Lari down, both talking and laughing and crying and Mirra wasn't even sure what she was saying. 

“We have to tell _everyone_.” Mirra finally said, when they had composed themselves a little again. 

“Lifur's already on it.” Lari said, “He took off like an arrow as soon as he read the letter.” 

They traded letters as they walked to the house together, only finishing just in time to be accosted by Sidgra and Vegdra, and then Jarn and a few of hir cooks who had been watching the little ones, and Lifur. They all piled into the kitchen, breaking out some cider they'd been saving for a special occasion and reading the letters aloud. 

Mirra held her little ones and drank to the happy toasts that were proposed, smiling and laughing as everyone talked plans for going to Erebor. 

The only way she could be more happy would be to have Bombur with her. 

Soon. 

He was waiting for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one chapter left!
> 
> The Bilbo/Bofur section is in reference to http://archiveofourown.org/works/661653


	32. The Gates of Erebor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Final Chapter
> 
> aka: happily ever after, because I'm fluffy that way.

It was a slow-moving caravan, the first large one to leave the Blue Mountains for Erebor, but Mirra didn't mind the gentle pace. She rested a hand on the ox's shoulder as she walked along, idly brushing out the wilted flowers Sorra had braided into animal's hair, enjoying the sun and the breeze. 

She watched her little ones, Forra carrying little Borra with Sorra trailing after, as they gathered up handfuls of grass and brought them to the ox they had named 'Hematite' for his shaggy rusty-red fur, giggling as his rough tongue scraped their hands. 

She was not the only one keeping an eye on the little ones, Sidgra and Vegdra were flanking the wagon, alert even thought there was no way for an enemy to sneak up on them, and Lari had a wider view from her seat up on the wagon, Lifur was sprawled out beside her with his head in her lap as he carefully stitched the new tunic he wanted to wear for their arrival in Erebor. 

Mirra was glad they had chosen an ox and a single large wagon instead of ponies and two wagons. Oxen were far steadier animals, where a pony might balk an ox would plod on, where a pony might get stuck and panic an ox would calmly power through. 

Mirra had never known, before, exactly _how many_ different kinds of animals could be draft animals before, it seemed like someone had tried _every_ kind. Some of her friends in the caravan joked that they were surprised they hadn't seen anyone trying pigs or chickens. Ponies and oxen had come as no surprise, as well as donkeys and mules and even a few horses though they seemed far too tall and dangerous to her. Some people who could not afford an ox had instead gone for cows, which seemed to go well once the animals got used to the new work. Goats she had _never_ considered, but there were quite a few families with pack goats and they seemed to do very well, though they could not carry much. Sheep did less well, but those who used them seemed to feel they were better off than those who were carrying everything they owned on their backs, and there were many of those in their caravan – Dwarves looking for a new start in Erebor. 

The biggest surprise were the dogs, there were none in their caravan, but they had been passed by several smaller caravans, teams of dogs pulling small fast wagons – the Dwarves clinging to the back calling out sharp commands as they raced past. 

When they began making their way north up the borders of Mirkwood they'd started to meet caravans from the south and east, and Mirra stopped having _names_ for some of the animals they used – strange cattle with horns that reminded her of Bofur's hat, and bad-tempered bored-looking animals taller than horses with humped backs and large padded feet, and some type of antelope with tall curved horns. 

Lifur was holding onto hope that they would get to see an Oliphant. 

Still, of _all_ the draft animals they could have chosen, Mirra was glad they had a good, dependable ox. 

Forra and Sorra handed the ox their handfuls of grass, and Mirra smiled at them, her little ones who had been _so good_ on this long journey. 

“I'm tired, Ama.” Sorra said, and Mirra scooped the little one up. 

“Let's put you up with Aunti Lari.” she said. 

“No!” Sorra squirmed, reaching for the ox, “I want to ride _Hematite_.” 

Mirra laughed and hoisted Sorra onto the ox's back. The little one immediately lay down and began putting in new braids to replace those Mirra had brushed out. 

“Me too, Amad?” Forra asked, and Mirra handed Borra to Lari and helped Forra up on the ox's back too. The ox paid them no attention. She'd been worried, at first, about the ox and her little ones but she'd let it go the morning she woke up to find Forra and Sorra playing king-of-the-mountain on the ox with a few friends, and the animal had just lay there chewing his cud. 

He seemed to like the little ones, or at the very least was unnaturally patient with them, and they _loved_ him.

Mirra smiled. Her children were safe and happy, and the sun was warm, and the breeze was fresh and clean, and out in the distance Mirra could see the Mountain where Bombur was waiting for them. 

Someone - Mirra couldn't see who - started a song, and she raised her voice to join in as the caravan sang of hope, and family, and coming _home_. 

 

Bombur waited with Bifur and Bofur at the Great Gates, watching the caravan approach. Over the past months caravans had begun to trickle in from the Blue Mountains, and from the East and the South, from wherever the Dwarves of Erebor had scattered. 

This caravan though, _this_ caravan was the one Mirra and the little ones, and Lari and Lifur, and Sidgra and Vegdra were with. 

It was a big one, snaking its way across the valley, wagons and oxen and ponies other smaller animals and swarms of Dwarves with heavy packs, the sounds of their marching-songs and laughter drifting toward the Mountain. 

All the Dwarves waiting at the gate were straining their eyes, trying to spot their families, long before they could really be expected to be able to see them. 

Bifur spotted Lari first, her big gravity-defying hair unmistakeable as she perched on the seat of a wagon pulled by a shaggy red ox near the front of the caravan... and there, walking around the wagon, Mirra and Sidgra and Vegdra with Lifur and Forra and Sorra, and Borra must be the little smudge of pale-blond hair sitting beside Lari on the wagon. 

It seemed to take an age for them to make it to the gate. 

Forra and Sorra squealed when they spotted Bombur, running ahead to jump on him. He picked them up, holding them as tight as he could without hurting them, as they babbled about all they'd seen on their journey. Mirra was not far behind them, Borra in her arms, and they wrapped their arms around their family, holding their little ones between them as they rested their foreheads together. There were happy tears in Mirra's wonderful blue-green eyes, and Bombur knew he had some too. 

Bifur had not waited to help Lari down from the wagon, clambering up to kiss her. Lari dropped the ox's leads, pulling him down into her lap for a more thorough kissing to cheers and wolf-whistles from the Dwarves of the caravan. 

Forra and Sorra wiggled their way free, and Bofur snatched Borra away for hugs and tickles while he helped Sidgra and Vegdra move the ox and wagon out of the flow of traffic, since Lari wasn't steering anymore... Sidgra and Vegdra who were jokingly complaining that Bofur didn't _love_ them anymore, since he hadn't flirted yet. 

He wasn't likely to either. He was already planning a trip out to the Shire, just as soon as the restoration was going well enough that he could be spared. 

His _thing_ with Bilbo had turned out to be a bit more serious than anyone had anticipated. 

Mirra plucked Bombur's beard loop up and dropped it over her shoulders, smiling almost shyly at him, her cheeks blushed pink under the sun-kissed freckles of her travels, her arms around his shoulders. 

“I missed you.” she said. 

“...missed you too. So much.” Bombur answered, squeezing her tight. 

“Let's not do that again.” she said. 

Bombur nodded. He wasn't going to leave her, ever, _ever_ again. 

She rubbed noses with him, eyes smiling, before she kissed him – and she was soft, and she was warm, and she was his Mirra, and he was _never_ going to let her go. 

When they broke apart, and Bombur honestly could not say how long they had been kissing only that it not been nearly long enough, he realized that he and Mirra had been getting wolf-whistles too. 

Mirra chuckled softly, ducking out of his beard loop and squeezing his hand as he tried to hide his blush. Luckily he had Vegdra and Sidgra to greet, both of them laughing as the boasted about how well they'd protected the family for him. 

Bifur had helped Lari down from the wagon, and Lifur was finally taking his turn to say hello – bouncing around as he illustrated a story with his hands. 

He'd clearly dressed himself for the occasion in a sleek new tunic, a ruffle of the teal lace he took such care of peeking through the split collar, wearing his belt knives and a new set of smaller knives in his boots, and the biggest smile on his face. 

“...then the Warg jumped _over the guards_ , heading _right for_ our wagon, everyone was screaming and the little ones were scared but _I_ wasn't scared, and Amad _smashed its head in with a warhammer_ right before the guards got there.” Lifur threw a worshipful look at Lari, who flexed slightly. 

“I haven't got the footwork anymore, but I've still got the arm.” she said, and Bifur kissed her for it. 

Bofur grabbed Borra back from Bofur, perching the little one on his hip as he watched Forra and Sorra climbing on the shaggy ox, who whuffed quietly at them and held patiently still. Mirra did not seem worried, and Sidgra was actually helping Sorra up onto the ox's back, so Bombur had to trust that it was safe. 

“...Vegdra helped me skin the Warg.” Lifur was continuing his story, “It's the most _beautiful_ cinnamon fur. I'm going to make the _best_ coat out of it, and...” He broke off as Bifur grabbed him, holding him still, a huge smile on his face. 

“Inudoy.” he said proudly, son, and now that Lifur was holding _still_ Bombur could see that he _had_ decided. 

“Inudoy!” he crowed, picking Lifur up over his head despite his laughing protests, spinning him around before setting him down and cracking foreheads together – off center because of the axe – and pulling him into a hug. 

Bifur pushed Lifur back, both of them beaming, “my beautiful boy” he signed, affectionately tweaking the little scruff of beard that was starting to grow on Lifur's jaw. 

“Adad!” Forra called, practically laying across the ox's face, brushing the long red hair out of its big liquid-brown eyes as it sniffed at the little one's clothes. “Can we keep him? Amad said we had to ask you.” 

“Please, Ada?” Sorra piped up, sprawled across the ox's broad back, idly putting braids in the long fur. 

“Pleeeease?” little Borra added, patting Bombur's cheek, big blue eyes begging. 

“We'll take good _good_ care of him!” Forra promised as Bombur looked to Mirra, she shrugged with a little smile. 

“They _love_ the ox.” she said. 

“We could probably use him to haul rubble out.” Bofur volunteered, and he would know, he'd been coordinating a lot of the repair and restoration... and it wasn't like they couldn't _afford_ to have the ox boarded somewhere. 

Bombur nodded, giving permission, and his littles squealed happily, Forra kissing the ox right on the forehead. 

“Usha! Usha!” Sorra bounced up and was _standing_ on the ox's back, which the ox did not react to in the least. “Ada says we can keep Hematite!” 

Bombur turned to see Jarn and a few of the younger cooks from hir kitchen leading heavy-packed mules, the sturdy little Dwarf's eyes were wide as ze took in just what could be seen of Erebor from the Great Gates before settling on Bombur and his family with a smile. 

“That's _wonderful_.” ze said warmly. 

“you... came!” Bombur hadn't expected to see Jarn again. 

“Of _course_ I came.” Jarn said, passing off the lead of hir mule and walking over to lightly pinch Borra's cheek, “You didn't think I'd let the children-of-my-heart leave me behind, did you?” Jarn smiled, and Bombur put a hand on hir shoulder. 

“Thank you.” he said, and Jarn blushed slightly. 

“Oh, it's nothing really.” ze said, “I'll never find the right Dwarf for me if I stay hidden under the Blue Mountains, you know. Erebor is the place to be!.. and now that I'm here, I've got to find an inn or something...” ze started to turn away. 

“...stay with us?” Bombur offered, looking up to include the young cooks Jarn had traveled with in the invitation. He certainly had enough room in the huge house his family had claimed, just until Jarn could find a place of hir own. 

“I cooked food.” he added, and that was true. He knew the Company was going to descend on his house to meet his family so he'd prepared to feed them all. The pot of stew he had simmering over the fire was more than big enough to stretch over a few more. 

The young cooks threw Jarn pleading looks, and ze laughed, “You know I'll never turn your cooking down. We'd be thrilled.” 

Bombur smiled and gently bumped his forehead against Jarn's before releasing hir to take charge of hir mule again. Forra had to be helped up onto the ox with Sorra, both of them refusing to go into the Mountain any other way. Bombur carried Borra on one hip, his other arm around Mirra as they walked. Sidgra and Vegdra were talking with Jarn and hir cooks, Bifur and Lari snuggled up together on the wagon as they got the ox moving again. Bofur had his arm around Lifur's shoulders as they walked. 

“There's two Dwarves I've got to introduce you to.” he was saying, “Dori's going to teach you _so much_ about fabrics and lace, and his brother Nori knows _all_ about knives. You're going to love them...” 

Bombur squeezed Mirra and gave little Borra a kiss, smiling as he looked around at his family. 

All of them, _his family_ , and they walked under the Great Gates and into Erebor together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that folks! Thank you to everyone who has been reading along and enjoying. I hope this conclusion is satisfying to you – I have one more side story planned for this particular universe, and then I'm moving on to other things.   
> Hematite the Ox is a Scottish Highland ox. They are the cutest things in the world.   
> The animals Mirra sees from the south and east are water buffalo, camels, and the antelope-things you see in the beginning of the Hobbit for just a second as the Dwarves are wandering homeless. I have no idea what they are, but they seem to be used as pack animals. Please let me know if you know what they are.   
> I really like the idea that the Dwarves of Erebor scattered everywhere, and intermarried with local Dwarf populations, so when they and their descendants return to Erebor it becomes very multicultural.   
> Should I mention that Bifur would have been just as excited no matter what gender Lifur chose to be? He was just excited that his little one was all grown up and choosing a gender.   
> If you have any questions, feel free to ask them in the comments. I love talking to people!   
> As always, I can also be found on Tumblr – thorinsmut.tumblr.com   
> I love you all and thanks again for reading.  
> <3, TS.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Green Food](https://archiveofourown.org/works/847938) by [thewaywardwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaywardwriter/pseuds/thewaywardwriter)




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